Stand in the Desert
by Celtic Quill
Summary: You never forget the magic of true love or the heartache that ensues when it ends. They thought they would be together forever, but they've been broken up for three years. When Quinn has to interview Rachel, upcoming Broadway starlet and ex-love, will the girls realize that when it comes to love, there is no 'ex' after all? AU. Present and past timelines.
1. Present - 1

I was going to wait and post this until after I'd finished _Finding Prince Charming_, but in typical me fashion, I really wanted to go ahead and share this with you guys, too. :) I have kept this story close to my heart for over a year now; I started writing it in July of 2012! I had put it aside for a while, thinking I would maybe never even finish it because it was just becoming too daunting for me, when this past month, I suddenly became completely reinvigorated with writing it.

Thank You to God for this, for giving me the passion to write this and the means to carry it out. :D I also want to thank my Lil Sis, Maddie, for giving me the push of encouragement I needed to post this and share it with everyone.

So much time, energy, and love went into this from me that it might as well be a Horcrux...you know, if Horcruxes were made out of sweet lady Faberry kisses and not out of soul-ripping murder. :P I would love feedback, as all writers crave, so please leave a review. It will take just a little of your time but will leave me smiling for long after, I promise! :) (Well, as long as it's not a mean review... But I think the Faberry fandom is too nice and mature for that!)

Most of this is already written, so if you don't want to start a new story because you're afraid it will go incomplete or take forever to update, I say, fear thee not!

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and give it a chance. :D And, please, let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter One**

**_Present – April 2016_**

"Black, spoonful of sugar, twist of honey. Black, spoonful of sugar, twist of honey. Black, spoonful of sugar, twist of honey. Black…."

Quinn Fabray chanted the words under her breath with all the reverence of a sorceress casting an ancient spell. Shoulders back with the rigidity of a soldier, she crossed down the many hallways of the posh building where she interned and stopped when she reached the door marked 'MS. LOTUS.'

She drew in a long, deep breath, eyes closing against the flutter in her stomach. After composing the trickle of nerves, she entered through the doorway of Ms. Lotus' office and set the steaming mug of coffee onto the grand oak desk.

She took a step backward and smoothed her hands over her black blazer, making sure to keep her posture straight and professional. _Deep breaths,_ she coached herself. _Relax; you're a rock star. If anyone deserves to be promoted, it's you_.

While waiting for Ms. Lotus to arrive, Quinn appreciated the design of the office: Crisp white walls, expensive cream-colored carpet, and a picturesque window with fancy gold curtains that were currently pulled back to light up the room with morning sunshine. Authentic and _expensive_ artwork (two were abstract; three were of light towers on a sunset hill) provided the only decorations.

Walking forward, her stylish but impractical shoes sunk an inch or two into the soft carpet with each step. When she reached the window, she smiled at how, even though she'd lived here for years, she never tired of the New York City skyline. Her affection for the sleek architecture, rich culture, and the utter _history_ of the city never wavered; if anything, it grew stronger each day.

So immersed in her thoughts was she, that a brisk clearing of a throat behind her made Quinn jerk around to face the source, just barely managing not to topple over in her high-heels.

"Ms. Lotus!" Quinn exclaimed, eyes doubled in size and hands jumping together. "H-hello! Good morning!"

Ms. Lotus strolled into the room and rested her designer briefcase atop her desk. "Enjoying the scene of the city?" For some reason, it sounded like an accusation.

Quinn felt her heart give a lurch. "Yes, ma'am. You have a lovely view. Um, I brought you your coffee? Black, spoonful of sugar, twist of honey – just as you asked." She smiled her most appeasing smile and pushed her shoulders back even more to feign confidence.

Funny, because usually confidence was something Quinn had in spades, but around her no-nonsense boss, she found herself constantly blanching.

Ms. Lotus lifted her thin black eyebrows. She slipped her fingers around the handle of the mug; her French-manicure was starkly light against the cup's black color.

"Thank you," she said. Dark red lips twitched up the woman's face in her signature tight, guarded smile that still made Quinn feel uneasy. She never knew what her boss was _really _thinking; it was unnerving as hell, having to constantly guess at the subtext and hidden meanings in her concise words and sharp glances.

"Of course," said Quinn. Ms. Lotus sat down in her fancy wingback chair; she flipped open her briefcase, ignoring Quinn in a silent dismissal.

Quinn cleared her throat.

Ms. Lotus swung her expectant eyes to Quinn's smile. "Yes?" The woman's voice was as clipped as the edge of her chin-length bob.

"Well, I've been working here for a while now," Quinn began, straightening herself to her full height plus the added inch from the heels. She kept her hands clasped in front of her, not wanting to reveal the sweat beading on her palms or the sudden quiver of her fingers.

Ms. Lotus' brow jumped skyward, a movement rife with impatience.

"Throughout my time here, I believe I've proven to be an exemplary intern," Quinn continued. She was pleased that her tone remained strong and sure despite her boss' intimidating stare. "I'm always on time with everything, I don't talk back, and I go above and beyond with my tasks."

Ms. Lotus folded her hands atop her desk and cocked her head. "Do you have a point here, Miss Fabray, or are you merely keen on fluffing your own ego? I am a busy woman with important things, you know, and you're keeping me waiting." Her words were uttered calm and neutral, but her ice-blue eyes were frosty.

Quinn's jaw dropped; she popped her mouth closed as quickly as possible, eliciting the sound of teeth hitting teeth. Her nostrils flared along with the heat spreading through her veins. "I just…I wanted to…I thought that maybe I could…"

"Waste my time?" Ms. Lotus supplied.

Everybody has their breaking point. That clean _snap _of your patience cracking in half, sure as twig beneath boot. Over the past year she'd endured interning for Veronica Lotus, Quinn had almost reached her breaking point multiple times, but she'd always managed to calm herself down.

But right now, with Ms. Lotus' chilly disposition cranked up to the highest setting, Quinn found herself realizing that this wasn't worth it.

Her dream was to be a respected reporter-slash-photographer, and she had thought that getting this coveted promotion would be the key to that success. She had thought she needed Ms. Lotus, but really, that wasn't true – if anything, this dragon of a boss needed _Quinn_ and all of her ripe talent and raw passion. But Ms. Lotus was apparently too blind, self-centered, and flat-out _cruel_ to see that.

Quinn was twenty-two years old, graduated from a great college (well, kind of _two_ colleges), and she now realized it was time to stop wasting her ambitions groveling at the feet of Madam Dragon Boss.

So, just like that, in a quick _snap_, it happened.

Quinn, meet Breaking Point; Breaking Point, meet Quinn. Now you may proceed with your righteous anger.

Ms. Lotus pursed her thin mouth; a few faint wrinkles spidered out from the corners. "Something wrong, Miss Fabray? You look upset."

"Actually," Quinn said, hazel eyes flashing gold-green-amber-brown in a pinwheel of emotion, "Yes. There is something wrong. _You_."

Ms. Lotus' brow jumped up again, higher this time. "Excuse me?"

"But you're not excused," Quinn scoffed, emitting a mirthless laugh. "That's the problem; I can't excuse you for how terribly you treat me and everybody else who works for you. I am _good_ at my job – no, actually, I am _great_, better than you deserve, for damn sure!" Her tone rose, crackling with the same indignity that colored her cheeks a warm red.

"I can't believe I've wasted my time with this for so long," she said. "I have no clue why I put up with your abuse and false gratitude, fetching you coffee and doing your busy work that even a monkey could do. Every morning, _praying_ to get through just one more day until you give me a real chance."

Quinn swallowed hard, a heaviness settling over her heart. "But I can see now that that's never going to happen. No matter how hard I try, you won't give me a chance, or even an ounce of respect."

When Ms. Lotus didn't say anything, just stared at her out of calculating eyes, Quinn huffed loudly, rolled her eyes, and spun around. "In case you didn't catch the memo," she called over her shoulder, already marching halfway out the door, "_I quit!_"

As she watched the fiery blonde storm out, Ms. Lotus felt her lips do something rare and sacred: the smile that curled upon them was full and sincere.

And with it, her ice-blue eyes sparkled.

* * *

Rough hands flung Rachel Berry backward, throwing her atop a ratty old couch. The moth-eaten red velvet sunk around her petite body, springs groaning in protest.

She giggled and threw her arms up, fingers latching onto the front of a black leather jacket. With a quick yank, she pulled its owner down on top of her, the boy's knees slipping right against her crotch.

"Billy?" she said. Her top teeth tugged her bottom lip down into a slant; she peered up from long lashes.

"Yes?" Billy's tongue darted across his lips. His light blue eyes turned a darker shade, a _hungrier_ shade, as he stared down at his beautiful fiancé.

Rachel slipped her hands alongside his face, all the way up to the top of his dark hair, greased back with ample amounts of gel. When she spoke, it was quiet in volume but loud in meaning. "I'm ready."

Billy released a moan from deep within his throat as he dropped himself fully on top of her and crushed their mouths together. Tongues clashed, fighting entrance past each other; Rachel's hands roamed the sleek leather of his back, while one of Billy's squeezed against her toned thigh.

There was the _bang_ of a door kicked open.

The abrupt sound sent Billy jumping off the couch to stand in a defensive pose. Rachel shot upwards, desperate fingers working to tuck her now-wrinkled white button-down back into the waistband of her pink poodle skirt.

"What do you think you're doing here, Frankie?" Billy demanded.

Rachel looked up at the figure standing in the doorway. He was tall and muscular, bald with a bright red beard. "It's time for you to pay up," he – Frankie – said in a deep voice, thick-soled boots stomping across the wooden floorboards.

"No!" Rachel shouted, leaping to her feet. "Stay away from us!" Terrified tears shone in her amber-brown eyes as panic sent her body atremble.

"Get back down, _bitch_," Frankie spat.

Billy stepped in front of Rachel, blocking her from view. "Don't talk to her that way."

Rachel cowered behind him, pressing her forehead against his back and whimpering like a wounded animal.

"You're right," Frankie said, coming to a stop just a few feet away from them. "This is between you and me." In one quick movement, he pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and used a nimble thumb to pop out the knife.

In the next moment, three things happened at once: Frankie reeled back his arm and thrust his switchblade forward; Billy tried to push Rachel back and launch himself to the side; and Rachel shoved right back against Billy, attaching her hands to his bicep so she could catapult herself forward and use her body as a shield for him.

The tip of the blade sunk into Rachel's stomach with a nearly inaudible _click_; she bent forward at the waist, gripping at the handle Frankie had abandoned so she could hold the knife in place. Shock was written all over her face, screaming from her widened eyes, pouring silently from her gaping mouth.

"You stupid girl!" Frankie said.

Billy released an animalistic cry and dove on top of Frankie. After a few seconds of Billy's swinging fists and outraged shouts, Frankie's hefty body turned flaccid upon the floor.

Throwing him one final look comprised of utmost loathing, Billy left Frankie laying there and ran over to assist his fiancé.

"No!" he cried. "No, no, no! Betty! My love, are you all right?"

Rachel had sunk to her knees, hands still holding the knife right above her navel. Tears streamed down her face, splaying her lashes into thick sections. "Billy?" she asked, tone quivering in time with her frightened chin. "Billy, I can see the light! Please, help me…."

He sat down beside her, pulling her into him. "_No_." The word was a ragged whisper torn from his soul, out his aching throat. "Please! You can't leave me."

Billy wrapped his arms around her, setting her head into his lap. She stared up at him out of eyes that gleamed with equal-parts love and sadness. He stroked the top of her brunette ponytail, tears falling straight from his eyes, landing atop her scalp.

"I love you," he said, syllables warbled like a mouthful of marbles.

"I love you, too," Rachel said, shutting her eyes to release the pool of tears. When she opened them again, her cheeks glittered with wet, salty paths, but her eyes were serious with resolve.

"_I can see it,_" she sang, powerful mezzo-soprano voice complimented by the gentle swell of a violin. "_That warm, golden light_. _I can feel it. In my fingers, it burns so bright_."

"_I'm not ready for you to leave_," Billy's beautiful tenor filled the air, along with the strong chords of a piano. "_I need you here with me. I couldn't bear it if you left. But I have to set you free._"

The next verse, they sang together, voices building into the most beautiful and haunting of melodies. About three minutes and thirty seconds later, Rachel's heavy eyelids remained closed. With one last, anguished sob, Billy folded himself atop his now dead fiancé, his upper torso sprawled over her middle.

"Aaaaaannnddd… End scene!"

"Billy" hopped to his feet and brushed off his knees. He offered a hand to Rachel as she sat up; she accepted, and with one solid yank, he brought her into a standing position.

Rachel pulled the retractable rubber prop knife away from her stomach; another quiet _click_, and the "blade" sprang back out of the slot.

"Don't you just hate dying, Mitch?" she asked with a cheerful smile.

The prop master appeared at her side, letting her exchange the fake switchblade in favor of a Kleenex; she wiped at her face, under her eyes, ridding herself of tear residue.

"Yeah," Mitch Reynolds said, hauling his bulky body onto his feet. He scratched at an itch on his beard. "It's a real mood killer."

The entire set burst into appreciative guffaws at yet another of Mitch's wisecracks.

"You guys were brilliant, as always." The director, Fletcher van Hauser, said with the sort of pride usually reserved for one's grandkids. But with his youthful features, thick head of dark hair, and boyish grin, there was nothing else remotely grandfatherly about him.

He pulled his three main cast members into a group hug. "We're going to hit it big on opening night!"

"I don't know," Jesse St. James, the boy who played Billy, said, running a hand through his hair; his fingers came back glistening with gel. "Yes, the immense weight of my and Rachel's combined talent could crush an elephant, but it felt like there was something off in the final number's choreography."

Fletcher tried not to let his scowl manifest. "Your choreography involved sitting down and pretending to be bravely resolute. The most extensive movement you did was run your fingers through Rachel's hair. I don't really think you _can _be off with that."

"No, no," Rachel said. "Jesse's right. No offense, of course, Fletch."

Fletcher rolled his eyes; he loved these two, he really did, but it was hard to get used to their know-it-all attitudes. Apart, the two were manageable, but together, they were an unstoppable force of passionate opinions.

"No offense taken, _but_, I'm just going to remind you that I'm the director. You two are the actors. That means that _I direct,_ and _you act_." He spoke as if they were children, widening his eyes and nodding.

Mitch chuckled and patted Fletcher on the back. "I'm gonna hit craft services. I'll let you kiddies handle another spat."

As he walked off, Jesse and Fletcher launched into a debate about the idea of "Billy" picking up "Betty's" body during the duet and, while cradling her, doing twirls around the stage.

"It will add more visual stimulation and provide a heartbreaking symbolism of how Billy's world is spinning off its hinges now that she's dying!" Jesse said.

"It's much too showy; the whole point is to keep the 'dancing' – or lack thereof, as it is – as understated and minimal as possible, so the audience can focus on the beauty of the song and the meaning of the lyrics," Fletcher insisted for the thousandth time that week.

Rachel cleared her throat. "I'm going to go drink some warm tea to replenish my vocal chords. Jesse, I suggest you do the same; all this arguing and stress can't be good for your voice."

"All right," Jesse said, holding out his arm. Rachel linked elbows with him. "We'll talk more about this later," he told Mitch over his shoulder as he and Rachel strolled off the stage and toward her dressing room. "I will not let my impeccable eye for the arts go to waste."

Fletcher rolled his eyes and flicked his hand at their retreating backs. "Yeah, yeah."

Rachel snuggled into Jesse's side; a shiver danced all through her body. "I can't believe we're opening in just a few days!"

Jesse looked down at her tiny stature, a special smile playing at his lips. "This is it, Rach; our big break. Playing opposite each other on Broadway's most anticipated new spring show. I can smell the future, and it smells of success."

Rachel's heart swelled with warmth and excitement. "I've been dreaming for this day for so long, and it's now almost here! It's just within my grasp; all I have to do is reach out and takeit."

Jesse squeezed his arm tighter around hers. "I couldn't have asked for a better leading lady."

"And I couldn't have asked for a better leading man," Rachel giggled, a new bounce to her step as she leaned further into the warmth of her best friend.

But there was voice nagging in the back of Rachel's mind.

A voice, small but incessant.

A voice, quiet but resonating, like the echo of a pebble pitched into a cave.

The voice told her: _There's something missing here_.

No, that wasn't true; there wasn't some_thing_ missing.

It was the absence of some_one_.

By the time Rachel and Jesse had reached her dressing room, she silenced that pesky voice, determined to celebrate her good fortune rather than sulk in what could have been.

* * *

Quinn was halfway down the hall when she realized the gravity of what she had just done.

She had quit her "prestigious" interning job at a respected magazine, ditched her only means of salary, and no doubt put herself on a highly influential woman's blacklist for the rest of her life.

And all for the sake of her own damn pride.

Was lashing out and putting Ms. Lotus in her place worth losing everything Quinn had spent over a year working so hard for?

The cold feeling in Quinn's stomach and the quickness of her heart didn't appear to think so.

But it was too late now; she'd already driven the final nail in her career coffin. Besides, even if running back to her nightmare of a boss, groveling on her knees, and launching into a speech wherein she would apologize, kiss major ass, and plead insanity for her actions _would_ be able to scratch out the damage she had just done, that didn't mean that was what Quinn _wanted_.

No sirree, Quinn Fabray did not grovel. And if she did, it certainly wasn't to a middle-aged woman with a chip on her shoulder icy as Antarctica.

She had just reached the end of the hallway and was about to hang a left when a voice stopped her cold.

"Miss Fabray?"

Slowly, with dread curling in her stomach, Quinn turned around.

_Oh God_.

Ms. Lotus was strutting down the hallway, making it look ridiculously easy to do so in her sky-high Manolo Blahnik stilettos.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, shifted her weight to one foot, and stared the woman down as she approached her.

Ms. Lotus stopped a few feet away from Quinn.

And then the woman just freaking _stared_ at her, in this weird and appraising manner.

"Yes?" Quinn imitated Ms. Lotus' earlier impatience: she let her dark-blonde eyebrows leap up her forehead.

"You proved me wrong," Ms. Lotus said, with a smile that wasn't exactly warm, but was a far cry from her usual tight and guarded one. "There's a firecracker inside of you, and it's starting to explode."

Quinn couldn't have been more surprised than if Ms. Lotus had pulled a large fish from her pocket and whacked her over the head with it. She struggled to maintain an indifferent facial arrangement, but she could feel suspicion twisting through each muscle. "What do you mean?"

Ms. Lotus ignored Quinn's question, choosing instead to pose one of her own. "Do you prefer photography or reporting?"

Quinn blinked at the subject change. "I love them both equally."

"Why?"

Quinn waited a moment before answering.

"When I'm behind a camera lens, I feel like it's just me and my subject. Like nothing else matters but this one moment in time. Every picture I take is a moment I've saved for eternity that can't ever be captured the same way again." As Quinn spoke, her posture slipped into one of passionate fluidity, her hands moving all through the air. Her eyes gleamed from within, brightening her entire face.

"Photography is more of a solitary business, in the best possible way. But then there's reporting," she continued, not even looking at Ms. Lotus but rather gazing off in a dreamy smile. "It feels amazing to be able to ask questions that really _connect_ with someone, to slowly strip away their superficial layers and find the story within. Because everybody has a story, and it takes a true reporter to be able to tell the difference between tabloid fodder and breaking news."

When she finished, she looked back at Ms. Lotus' eyes and was once again surprised; the woman's expression was soft and approving, the hint of a sincere smile tugging at her thin red lips.

"I haven't seen that much passion in you since your job interview," Ms. Lotus said. "I thought back then that I was choosing someone fit to take over the magazine when I retire. But then you turned into a mindless, obedient drone like all of the others."

Quinn's smile faltered at the insult, feeling more than a little ashamed; what Ms. Lotus was saying was actually…well…_true_.

"But," Ms. Lotus said, the single word sparking hope back into Quinn's eyes. "When you stood up for yourself back in the office, and the way you just spoke of photography and reporting… There's hope for my company yet, Miss Fabray."

Quinn bit down on her lower lip to conceal an epic grin.

"So, I'm giving you a chance. If you do well, then I'll promote you to full-time reporter; if you do less than my high expectations, then you can expect a severance check in the mail."

"I won't let you down!" Quinn exclaimed, clutched hands rising to her chin as she did a little happy dance. She couldn't help but to grin and giggle; this was what she had been waiting for ever since she could remember – her big break. It was almost too good to be true!

Ms. Lotus gave a small smile before turning around. "We're going back to my office," she said. "I have the perfect first assignment in store for you."

Quinn followed behind with loping strides, each step punctuated with a bounce of giddiness and relief. She couldn't believe that getting a promotion took her quitting; it sort of seemed backwards, like a high school dropout announced as valedictorian.

But didn't they say that well-behaved women rarely make history?

That you have to jump off a cliff if you want to learn to fly?

Quinn didn't even care that her life could be summed up by cheesy platitudes; she hadn't felt this…this…_light _in such a long time.

"Oh, and Miss Fabray?" Ms. Lotus stopped to cast a serious look over her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"The next time you raise your voice at me, you won't have to bother quitting." The words were heavy in their meaning.

Quinn gulped and nodded with great vigor, not keen on getting fired now that things were finally looking up for her.

Okay, so maybe it was time to find the right balance between 'respectfully obedient' and 'passionate and dignified.'

Unfortunately, this was something Quinn had been struggling to figure out for the past three years.

When they were back in her office, Ms. Lotus lowered herself into the wingback chair. Before booting up her computer, she slipped on a pair of chain-link reading glasses.

Quinn stood on the opposite side of the desk, her hands joined in front of her.

She couldn't mess this up; whatever her reporting assignment was, she had to go above and beyond, shatter through the glass roof of expectations. Her stomach fluttered with a mixture of excitement and nerves; for now, she didn't know which was more dominant.

Ms. Lotus pulled up a file on her screen, which was positioned at such an angle that Quinn couldn't see it. The woman's hand hovered on the mouse, her eyes darting across the information long enough to make Quinn's stomach give a fresh dip of anticipation.

"You graduated from William McKinley High School in 2012, correct?" Ms. Lotus asked, not bothering to tear her eyes from the computer screen.

"Yes, ma'am," Quinn said, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. Where in the world was her boss going with this?

"Perfect." Ms. Lotus hit a button; there was the _whirr _of the printer starting up.

"Why do you ask?"

"You will be interviewing a person for the internet branch of the magazine. Since this story is a bit last minute, we can't fit it into the upcoming print edition, but it's imperative that we get the news out in some capacity before next weekend."

"Ohhkaayy," Quinn said, still not computing. "Why the rush?"

"The rush is because the girl you are interviewing is the main actress of Broadway's newest, much-anticipated musical that premieres next Saturday. Your job is to take a few stunning photographs and to compose an interview with a striking angle." Ms. Lotus pushed her eyeglasses farther up her long nose.

"Now," she said, turning her full attention to Quinn, ice-blue cutting into clover-green. "What exactly the angle is, is up to you. You can try to spin it where the readers fall in love with her and feel like they've known her for years; you can expose any hidden or not-so-hidden prima donna antics and cruelties; or you can turn it into a heartwarming but deep humanitarian story. I don't care what you choose, so long as it's not a shallow puff piece or any sort of slander. Your job is to capture the truth, but _which _truth is up to you."

Tingles of exuberance shot straight to Quinn's fingertips; she couldn't help but to grin from ear to ear. "Sounds great!"

Ms. Lotus nodded and turned back to the computer; her fingertip struck another button, and the printer started churning in response.

Quinn tried to focus on the warmth and optimism flowing through her body, but her stubborn curiosity refused to be ignored. It was her reporter's instinct to never back down from catching any mysterious information, to yank away the veil and reveal the facts hidden underneath.

She heard the printer spit out a single sheet of paper into its tray before dying off with a whine.

"But what does my old high school have to do with anything?" Quinn prodded.

"The upcoming Broadway starlet you'll be interviewing."

Quinn's heart gave a clumsy flip, suspended in midair for a second before landing. When it did, it hit the ground running. Foreboding stirred her stomach. "What about her?"

Ms. Lotus shot Quinn a look that told her it should have been obvious. "She was in your graduating class."

_No,_ Quinn thought, fighting to control the wave of panic building within her. _It couldn't be. It can't be her. It _isn't _her. _Her throat turned dry; palms, sweaty.

Ms. Lotus snatched the paper out of the tray and handed it to Quinn.

"Here you go," she said. "That's all the information you need to reach her. I've already spoken to her agent, who agreed for an interview within the next few days. Miss Lee was originally going to have this assignment, but I believe it's better suited for you."

Ms. Lotus graced Quinn with a smile that had a surprising amount of encouragement combined with its finality. "You can spend the rest of the day sorting the mail; your promotion doesn't start until after I've approved of the article."

Quinn just stood there, gripping the paper for dear life, boring her eyes into Ms. Lotus'.

Ms. Lotus lifted her eyebrows at Quinn's statue-like stance; apparently, her dismissal hadn't been obvious enough. "I'm a very busy woman, which means I need my alone time to work," she said, cocking her head toward the doorway.

The gesture snapped Quinn out of her millions of racing thoughts; she nodded a few times more than necessary, flashed a grateful smile, and hurried out of Ms. Lotus' office.

She didn't go straight to the mail room though.

Rather, her legs kicked into autopilot, bringing her to the upstairs girls' bathroom that had been out-of-order since yesterday and wouldn't be fixed until tomorrow. That meant the thing Quinn craved most right now: privacy.

She made sure no one was looking at her as she ducked inside. She made her way over to the sink in the far corner and leaned her back against it to keep her legs from giving out.

_Please, God,_ Quinn prayed, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths. _Don't let it be her; don't let it be her; don't let it be her_.

But there was a part of Quinn that popped up and thought, _Please, _let _it be her_.

And that scared her most of all.

Gathering every last drop of courage, Quinn opened her eyes and looked down at the paper, the sides of which were bunched within her sweaty, shaky hands.

'_Interviewee's Name_,' she read, biting down on her bottom lip so hard that she could feel the soft skin splintering against her teeth.

And there, in 12-point black lettering, shouting up at her with the roar of a hurricane, was her worries and panic confirmed.

'_Rachel Berry_.'

* * *

"You ready to go?"

Rachel slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "You betcha! Want to hit up that new vegan place?"

Jesse smiled. "You know, I must really love you if I'm willing to sacrifice meat so often."

Rachel giggled and fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. "To know me is to love me," she said in a breathy voice, tossing her neck back.

Jesse rolled his eyes. "To know you is to know great pain in one's ass."

"That's not a very nice thing to say to a deceased woman." She walked over to where Jesse stood in her dressing room's doorway.

They had changed out of their costumes and into more normal attire; Jesse sported designer jeans with a dark purple jacket worn over a black V-neck shirt. His naturally curly hair was still gelled back like a greaser's.

"You don't look all that deceased to me," he said, offering a smirk little in length but big in cockiness.

His eyes raked her up and down, appreciating the tight bust of her little yellow sundress and the length of her toned legs peeking from the hemline. She'd let her hair out of the ponytail so that it now fell around her shoulders in a cascade of rich, gleaming dark-brown.

Rachel swatted his shoulder. "Come on; you've already spent at least half of our lunch break ogling my legs. Not that I'm not flattered, of course, but right now my increasing hunger of food is winning out over my thirst for attention."

"That's a first for you," he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could exit.

"And a _never_ for you," Rachel countered with an arched brow. She flicked off the dressing room's light and locked the door behind her.

Jesse chuckled, never tiring of their verbal spars. Their quick-witted banter was one of his favorite things about their friendship. They were each like the sibling the other never had (he didn't count his actual brother and sister; he never spoke to them, and when he did, it always ended in an argument). Only they had the added perk of being allowed to check each other out without feeling gross.

The two fell into step down the hallway, heading for the back exit that led to the parking lot. They were in the middle of arguing over which one of them had the bigger ego, so caught up in their easy chatter that they didn't notice the auburn-haired woman at first.

"Rachel!"

Leading lady and leading man spun around to face Rachel's agent, Rebecca Flowers, standing before them.

"Oh, hi, Rebecca!" Rachel bubbled up. "Would you like to join us for lunch?"

Rebecca smiled warmly. "Actually, I can't. I have a check-up at the doctor's in thirty minutes. I needed to give you some information first though."

"Sure," Rachel said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "What's up?"

"You know how _Hot News_ magazine wanted to interview you?"

"Yes?"

"I've scheduled it for ten o'clock on Saturday morning. Is that all right?"

"Oh, yes, that's perfect." Rachel felt a fresh zap of excitement go through her. She was going to have her first ever interview! For a respected entertainment magazine, no less! She could feel all of the pieces clicking together in her life.

_Finally_, she thought.

"Good." Rebecca pulled out her ever-present Blackberry and typed something with skillfully fast fingers. "That's all set."

"Anything else?" Rachel asked, ignoring the way Jesse was starting to tap his foot.

"Not that I can think of," Rebecca said.

Just as Rachel and Jesse were beginning to turn back around, she exclaimed, "Oh! Wait, actually, there is something."

They halted mid-pivot; Rachel's eyes brightened with intrigue while Jesse puffed a sigh of frustration.

"It's a pretty cool coincidence, actually," Rebecca said.

"What is it?" Rachel cocked her head to the side.

"The girl who's interviewing you was in your graduating class at high school."

_Whoa!_ Rachel thought.

Of all the things her crazy, infinite imagination had been considering, that hadn't even been close. She wondered who on earth it could be. Probably someone she had barely even talked to back then. Or maybe one of the cruel, popular girls who laughed at her – wouldn't that be the best kind of ironic victory, for one of them to see Rachel's dreams unfolding firsthand?

She allowed herself an indulgent smirk at the thought. "Oh, really? What's her name?"

"Yeah; I just got off the phone with her boss, who informed me of the coincidence," Rebecca grinned. "One second…" She tapped a few buttons on her Blackberry, searching for the desired information. "Ummm, okay… Ah! Here it is. Her name is… Quinn. Quinn Fabray. Huh! What an interesting name."

"Oh no," Jesse said, his hand flying to his heart.

Rachel's smirk froze on her face. Amber-brown eyes widened to saucer proportions. An ashen quality seeped from forehead to chin; invisible, icy rivulets burned behind her face.

"_What?_" The word rasped from a sandpaper throat. Her heart started doing wind-sprints.

She must have misheard her.

That couldn't possibly be correct.

There was no _way_.

"What did you say?" Rachel demanded. Her fingernails stabbed into her palms; her lungs burned, gasping for air.

"Quinn," Rebecca said. Her brow furrowed in concern. "Do you know her? Oh my God, you look like you're about to pass out!"

Jesse placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder and crouched down to make eye-contact. "Rachel, honey, you need to _breathe_."

Their words rang through Rachel's ears, loud and shrill and overlapping but none comprehending. Her vision darkened as panic curled its thick claws around her neck and _squeezed_.

Squeezed the breath from her lungs.

Squeezed every bit of air from the hallway.

The last time she saw Quinn Fabray, Rachel had accepted that it would _remain_ the last time.

Because surely the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to make her have to face the girl _now_. Not when things were finally, _finally_ going well for her.

Apparently, this wasn't the case.

Apparently, the universe was one sorry son-of-a-bitch.

"I'm going to faint," Rachel mumbled, matter-of-factly.

She should have known her growing fortune was too good to be true.

So much for everything finally clicking into place; as always, when Quinn Fabray was involved, everything was falling apart.

She pitched forward, everything flashing to deepest black; the last thing she was aware of was the feeling of Jesse's arms wrapping around her waist.


	2. Past - 1

**Chapter Two**

**_August 2009 – 10__th__ Grade_**

This year was going to be different.

This year was going to actually be _good_.

Call it women's intuition, unceasing optimism, or even a sudden bout of clairvoyance: any way you spun it, there was a wonderful sensation rising all through Rachel Berry's body. She felt as light as air and as warm as freshly baked bread, like she was on top of the world and nothing could stop her.

There would be no Slushie facials this year, ruining her outfits and stinging her eyes with ice and tears.

There would be no vicious MySpace comments on her videos (well, in large part because she had deleted her account, but still).

And, for once, and most importantly, she would have friends.

She would be respected, admired, _loved_ by all her peers. She would have people to talk to, people who actually _wanted_ to hang out with her; she wouldn't have to rely on the company of the members of the Glee Club she co-captained, which was a relief because they were all underachieving, unappreciative, and masked their jealousy of her impending stardom by muttering petty comments and ignoring her when she tried to join them at lunch or sit next to them in classes.

_Yes,_Rachel thought with a little smile to herself, closing her locker door. _This year, I'll finally get the recognition I deserve. People will realize that it's so much better to hitch their bandwagon to a true star, rather than to stand in its way and get engulfed in flames as the mesmerizing ingénue passes them by._

As she turned away from her locker and prepared to step forward, her excited and expectant gaze fell onto a figure coming around the corner at the end of the hallway.

Rachel cocked her head like a bird, brow furrowing and lips jumping into a curious smile.

The figure walking her way was a girl.

Not just _any_ girl, but a _new_ girl.

And 'new girl' meant that this was one person who didn't already have preconceived notions of Rachel; this, ladies and gentlemen, was the human form of a clean slate - heck, the girl was even dressed in the purest of white!

It was like a living, breathing metaphor. And if there was one thing Rachel loved, it was a good metaphor.

She decided to wait until the girl passed close enough to her locker before stepping forward and making introductions. Her stomach felt alive with giddy butterflies and hopeful anticipation; she hugged her notebooks tight to her chest, intending for the applied pressure to ease her throbbing heart.

The girl was halfway toward her by now. Rachel noticed that she was staring down at a sheet of paper in her hands, so absorbed that she wasn't watching where she was going.

As each step from the girl's sandals brought her closer, Rachel became struck by how_ beautiful_ the stranger was.

Long and silky-straight blonde hair, parted to the left with a single lock in the front worn in a little braid.

A heart-shaped face, angled down toward the paper, making her eyelashes appear longer and fuller than should be allowed.

Wearing a lacy white babydoll dress that showed off the tiniest waist and the most graceful legs.

All of this, paired with the girl's smooth and fair skin, made Rachel think of the porcelain dolls she used to have as a child, so powerful with their dainty, virginal beauty, and yet so fragile if mishandled.

Rachel was torn between focusing on the ugly fist of jealousy clenching in the pit of her stomach...or the strangely slow patter of her heart.

The closer the girl came into Rachel's line of sight, the more angelic details she found: a silver cross necklace around her neck; subtly arched eyebrows; a faint pink blush upon delicate cheekbones; and – the part that made Rachel the most envious of all – a perfect ski-slope nose.

So enraptured – no, that wasn't the right word... More like, _intrigued_ – by this girl's beauty was Rachel, that she almost forgot to step out and greet her as she passed by.

_All right; Rachel Berry's Fabulous Sophomore Year; Scene One, Take One – 'Rachel Makes a New Friend,' _Rachel narrated, letting her signature cheerful grin take over her face as she pushed herself away from the lockers and directly into the girl's oncoming path. _Aaaannnd... Action._

"Hi!"

* * *

"You look adorable, sweetheart," Judy Fabray said, reaching over to smooth a hand atop her daughter's hair. "There's no need to be nervous; a young girl as gorgeous as you is going to make _lots_of friends. You'll have to beat people away with a stick!"

Quinn Fabray unbuckled her seatbelt and graced her mom with a nervous but genuine smile. "Thanks, Mom. I just hope... I really don't want..." She closed her eyes and sighed, trying to find the right words amidst the tangle of phrases bumping around in her brain. "What if people don't like me?" When her lids peeled back open, her eyes shone with worry.

"How could they not like you?" Judy asked as if it were the most preposterous thing in the world.

"I don't know," Quinn mumbled, staring down at her clear manicure, resting in the lap of her brand-new dress. "Maybe because I'm new, which automatically makes me an outsider? Maybe because I speak my mind, and that can make me come across as bitchy?"

Judy poked Quinn's shoulder to get her daughter's attention; only when their eyes met did she speak. "First of all, _language_." She raised her brow and pursed her lips before continuing. "Second of all, you are completely overthinking this, sweetie. This is the first day of the entire school year, which means_ everyone_feels like an outsider."

She clapped her hands together. "Now, I want you to get out of the car, march on up to that school, keep up that confident posture, and repeat to yourself that everything will be all right."

"Everything will be all right," Quinn echoed, nodding along with her mom and ignoring the way her insides were coiling and tightening like snakes.

"Atta girl!" Judy beamed and patted her daughter's cheek. "Jesus is with you, honey. Now get on out there and go! Move it, move it, mooooove it!" She spanked Quinn's behind as she opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Once her feet were on solid ground, Quinn spun around and widened her eyes. "_Mom!_ What if somebody saw you? We're in _public._"

Judy flashed an innocent look in return. "Whaaaaaaaat? I can't help it; that cute little tush of yours is evidence of our lucky gene pool. Can't a woman feel some pride for that?"

Quinn couldn't help but giggle. But for some reason, rather than make her feel lighter, the brief moment of amusement only added to the heaviness in her gut. "Bye, Mom; I love you."

"Goodbye, honey! Have fun! I love you! Don't forget to keep your shoulders ba – " The passenger door slammed shut.

Quinn waved one last time, over her shoulder so she didn't have to look and see her mom and then become plagued with even _more_of the homesickness that was churning deep within her stomach and tugging at her heartstrings.

_Be brave,_ she told herself, putting one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to stroll as confidently as possible to the front doors of William McKinley High School. _Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right. Be brave; be strong. You can do this! Everything will be all right_.

When she entered through the double-doors, a blast of air-conditioning welcomed her away from the late-summer Ohio heat. She adjusted the strap of her purse and surveyed the area. Her eyes fell upon a glass door with 'FRONT OFFICE' printed on it.

Once inside, she received her schedule from a frenetic secretary. When she tried to ask where some of the hallways were located, the secretary ignored her and practically threw her out the door so she could help the next person in line.

Quinn's chest tightened in panic as she ambled around the school. She had no clue where Room A-123 was! And what the heck did STR-2 mean? It was like trying to read instructions in Latin. Scratch that: even Latin was more straightforward than this.

She tipped her head down and glared at the paper. Maybe if you rearranged the letters and numbers a certain way, it would turn into a map leading her to find buried treasure beneath the school.

… Yeah, and maybe her frustrated mind was being just a _little _bit dramatic.

She was so absorbed in memorizing her schedule that there could have been bombs dropping all around her and she wouldn't have noticed.

"Hi!"

"OHMYGOD!" Quinn jumped backward, hands flying over her now-racing heart. Her eyes popped double their size as she gaped at the girl who had appeared _right_ in front of her. "Hi."

"Sorry," the girl said, cheerful grin not faltering in the slightest. "Did I startle you?"

Quinn's pulse slowly but surely returned to a semblance of normal, as her eyes blinked away any leftover terror. "Um, yeah. You could say that." _More like scared the last five years off my life_.

"Sorry!" the girl said again, tone as peppy as her smile. "You did look very enthralled with that paper you have there, presumably your schedule. You're new here, right?"

Quinn blinked, mouth floundering. The girl was staring at her in this know-it-all way. And if that weren't weird enough, she used words like 'presumably' in everyday conversation.

"Is it that obvious?" Quinn asked.

"To most people, probably not; I just so happen to have an eye for spotting fresh talent or potential friends."

Quinn was too busy giving her a subtle once-over to respond; the girl was pretty, in a unique way. She had a distinctive nose amidst a face with strong, regal bone structure. Her skin was smooth, paired nicely with big amber-brown eyes framed with full lashes. Right now, those eyes were widened a bit _too _much, bubbling within from a maniacal energy.

But then there was her outfit.

It was the complete stereotype of a schoolgirl, with a few librarian-esque twists thrown in: Right there, worn over a short-sleeved white shirt, was an honest-to-God _sweater vest_. And if that weren't bad enough, it was a purple-and-black _argyle _print.

Her mini-skirt was a matching shade of majestic purple. There were actual – she's not joking – white knee-socks. And, of course, those socks were paired with a pair of glitzy hot pink shoes.

"However," the girl was saying, "considering your striking looks, I'd have to say that it will turn out to be glaringly obvious that you're new. You're like a diamond in the rough here at McKinley."

Quinn tilted her head, opened her mouth to reply, but the girl beat her to it.

"Of course," she continued, flicking a hand through the air. "I would know all about diamonds in the rough, seeing as how, with my incredible vocal talent and knack for the performing arts, I am one."

Quinn's eyebrows skyrocketed.

Then the girl surprised her for the fourth time in as many minutes; her next smile was small and close-lipped, little dimples popping upon rosy cheeks. Gentle eyes peered up beneath those long lashes. "Us diamonds have to stick together, right?"

Quinn couldn't help the soft smile that spread across her face. She didn't know what to say to this strange girl, but she did know that, in this moment, smiling at her and looking into her eyes felt _right_.

The girl took Quinn's smile as confirmation. "Great!" Her gleeful nature returned in full-force; she stuck out a jaunty hand. "I'm Rachel."

Quinn raised her eyebrows at the hand. "Quinn," she said, slipping her palm into Rachel's. Her arm was nearly ripped out of its socket by Rachel's enthusiasm, and Quinn's fingers were crushed together by Rachel's strong grip. When their hands separated, Quinn flexed hers to get the feeling to return to it.

"Quinn? That's such a pretty name. It suits you well."

Quinn's smile was almost as warm as Rachel's this time. "Thank you."

"Of course. So, do you want me to show you around the school, help you locate your classes?"

Relief flooded through her, loosening the stubborn knots in her stomach. "Yes, actually! That would be great."

Rachel plucked Quinn's schedule out of her hand. As amber-brown roved black-and-white, Quinn asked, "What does 'S-T-R-Two' mean?"

"It means 'staircase two,' which indicates that it's the second room behind the main staircase. It'll be the one to the right," Rachel said. Still reading the schedule, her eyes brightened, and she did a little happy dance. "Hey, we have four classes together, plus lunch! This is fantastic!"

Quinn felt surprised to find that the toothy grin stealing up her own cheeks flowed with sincerity.

Apparently, hyperactive jubilance was contagious.

Rachel returned Quinn's schedule and added, "Trust me, I know; it seems impossible to find all the classes and connect them to their abbreviations, but you'll get the hang of it eventually. They don't even start counting you late until the second week, anyway." She offered an encouraging smile, and Quinn found herself flashing a grateful one back.

Quinn spent the next ten minutes keeping up with Rachel's speed-walk all over the school. For such a petite girl, Rachel's legs sure made some long, brisk strides. Along the way, Quinn tried to memorize all of her classroom locations, but it felt like a losing task.

Soon, the five-minute warning bell was piercing the air, and Rachel was dropping Quinn off in front of her first class.

"I'll see you again next period," Rachel said. "It'll be easy for you to find; it's the one directly across the hall. You'll get there before I do, so be sure to save me a seat."

"Okay," Quinn said. Her stomach's knots had retightened and even added some extra loops, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces all around her and the too-loud chatter of their overlapping conversations.

And then, in a hit-and-run of affection, Rachel threw her arms around Quinn in a hug. So fast, that Quinn didn't even have time to return it before the girl was pulling away.

"Good luck!" she chirped, warm breath tickling Quinn's ear.

Oh, _that_ must have been why Quinn's heart gave a lurch, why her stomach's knots pulled tight enough to fray: because of the tickling sensation. Of course.

With a final wave of fluttering fingers over her shoulder, Rachel strode off down the hallway.

And Quinn was left to walk into a foreign room, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of loneliness.

* * *

Rachel couldn't remember the last time she had felt this triumphant.

She sauntered into her first period class with a giant smile stretched high up her face, warm and fuzzy feelings alive in her stomach.

This must be what it felt like to make a real friend. And not just any friend, but someone who was so pretty and so effortlessly _cool_.

Yes sirree, Rachel got wonderful vibes from Quinn, the angelic blonde with the soft, sultry voice.

It appeared that her gut was right; her sophomore year was going to be one to remember.

She took her typical seat, front row, dead-center. Rachel prided herself in being an exemplary student, someone whom her peers could strive to emulate in their own studies.

As she arranged her notebooks on her desk, she thought about inviting Quinn to try-out for Glee Club; the smile on her face widened.

"Hey, Manhands."

It froze in place…

"I see you still dress like an old granny moonlighting as a kindergartener."

…And slipped right off.

She turned to find none other than Santana Lopez sauntering toward her, stopping once she stood in front of Rachel's desk. Brittany Pierce, Santana's best friend, appeared at her side a few seconds later.

They wore their red cheerleading uniforms with the short, flip-y skirts. In the halls of McKinley, these uniforms symbolized great power, the magic capes that transformed its wearers from ordinary to extraordinary. Like Clark Kent into Superman, if Superman had been a bitchy teenage girl who enjoyed wrecking the world rather than saving it.

Santana's natural olive complexion glowed from a fresh summer tan, her raven-black hair worn in a bouncy ponytail. Brittany's pale skin was dotted with sun-kissed freckles, adding to her youthful beauty.

_So what? _Rachel thought. _Who cares if they've gotten even prettier?_

That's right; the joke was on them. For what they had gained in looks, Rachel had gained in both resilience _and_ good fortune. This was going to be _her_ epic year, and she wasn't going to let their scathing remarks get her down.

Because, this year, she would actually have someone in her corner.

This year, she had a friend. She had a…a Quinn! And a Quinn was worth much more than two mean girls in sassy skirts.

Rachel lifted her chin. "I'm sorry, ladies, but you're out of luck."

Santana crossed her arms and arched one of her perfect eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes." Rachel smoothed her hands down her sweater vest and cleared her throat. When she spoke, it was in a precise, superior tone. "Unfortunately for you, your breath has been wasted. Any petty insults you fling at me are deflected by the new shield of friendship I have acquired. As I'm sure you two know well enough, friendship is an impenetrable suit of armor that not even the cruelest of comments can chink. This is going to be my year, and I suggest you make it easier for all of us by accepting that now."

Brittany's brow lowered as she licked her lips. "Wait… Something's not right here." She turned confused blue eyes to Santana. "Isn't this the part where she's supposed to hold back tears and become all quiet? I like it when she's quiet; when she talks, I get a headache."

Now wearing an apologetic half-smile, she turned back to Rachel. "I'm sorry I forgot the routine; it's been a long summer. And I think I took one too many Flintstones Vitamins this morning, which can _totally_ make me trip out."

A rare moment of history unfolded where Rachel and Santana shared something in common: they wore matching expressions of 'what the fuck?' as they gaped at Brittany.

Santana shook her head as if snapping herself out of her trance. Utmost disgust and loathing crawled across her features as she planted her hands on Rachel's desk, leaning in to make too-close-for-comfort eye-contact with her.

Brittany cocked her head and checked out Santana's ass as she did so.

"You said something about making an actual '_friend_'?" Santana eyed Rachel like a tiger eyed a gazelle. "The funny thing is, Berry, I saw you talking to and even _hugging_ a really pretty blonde girl not even five minutes ago. Considering she – for some crazy reason – didn't take off her clothes and light them on fire while running for the nearest swimming pool of hand sanitizer to rid herself of your loser-germs, I'm going to guess that _she's _this little _friend_ of yours, hmmm?"

Rachel didn't back down.

Even though her heart cracked just the _tiniest_ bit at Santana's words...

And even though she felt her hands gripping against the edges of her chair…

She didn't back down. No, she stared right into Santana's dark, squinted eyes.

"Yes," Rachel said. "She is."

"Not for long," Santana said, the chilliest of smirks settling on her plump mouth. An icy shiver stroked down Rachel's spine.

Santana jerked her head an inch closer to Rachel, making her flinch.

Satisfied, Santana rose back to her full height, locked pinkies with Brittany, and pranced off with her to the back of the room.

When the late bell shrieked a second later, Rachel gave such a leap that she sent her notebooks flying off her desk and crashing to the floor.

_Not for long_.

Those three words rang in her ears, louder than the bell.

* * *

It was weird how relieved Quinn felt when Rachel walked into her second period history class.

As if the mere sight of the girl provided a mallet to break apart the cinderblock of stress that had accumulated atop her chest from her disastrous first period.

Her teacher had turned out to be a total push-over who let her students act out and throw paper airplanes across the room while she was introducing herself and her classroom expectations (basically, they boiled down to this: She had none).

"Hey," Quinn smiled when Rachel spotted her, even doing a little wave that made her feel like a dork.

Rachel _beamed_ back at her, hurrying over and slipping into the seat beside her. "Hi, Quinn! It is _such_ a pleasure to see you. My last class wasn't exactly the enjoyable start I had hoped it would be." She sighed in a 'what can you do?' sort of way.

Quinn giggled.

And boy did Rachel like that: the sound of Quinn's giggle, the implications it held. Its purity, its lightness, the carefree tinkling of _warmth_ as it drifted out from the blonde's full lips – Rachel's heart fluttered.

"What is it?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager – and failing. "What's so funny?"

Quinn shook her head, amused grin locked into place. Of course, even her teeth were perfect; like when she had first seen her, Rachel found herself torn between jealousy and admiration.

"Nothing, it's just…" Quinn twirled her single, narrow braid around her finger. "My first class wasn't what I had hoped for, either. To be blunt, it _sucked_."

Rachel smiled and released a giggle of her own. She hoped it was as charming as Quinn's. She hoped _she _was as charming as Quinn. "Good," she said, nudging the blonde with her elbow.

"Why?" Quinn asked, tilting her head, smile turning quizzical.

"Because misery loves company, right?"

Quinn's smile grew, eyes sparkling. "Right."

As Rachel adjusted the purple headband atop her long, dark-brown hair, Quinn realized with a start that she was beginning to like this girl. Not, you know, _like_-like because Quinn liked boys; she did, really, even though she had never found one worthy enough to have as a crush. Oh! Besides her ex-boyfriend, of course, from her old school.

Anyway, Quinn thought she might like this girl already, this Rachel with the argyle sweater vest and the blinged-out shoes. She was the exact opposite of the girls Quinn had hung out with at her old school, and that was turning out to be a breath of fresh air. It was strange, though, because it usually took Quinn quite a while to warm up to someone; Rachel had managed to almost win her over in a combined manner of fifteen minutes.

The late bell sounded, and this time, the teacher – an older woman named Mrs. Hagberg – began to take roll right away, in an authoritative and loud voice that had the students quieting within seconds.

After Mrs. Hagberg had called "Berry, Rachel" and "Fabray, Quinn," Rachel tapped Quinn on the shoulder to get her attention.

Quinn's politely expectant gaze landed on Rachel's excited one.

"I was just wondering," Rachel whispered, "What do you think of Glee Clubs?"

"Glee Clubs?" Quinn bit down on the corner of her mouth and looked up at the ceiling, a moment of deep thought. "Like, singing and dancing and show tunes and costumes?"

"Yes, exactly like that!"

"Hmmm, I dunno. That's not really my thing."

Rachel felt determination swirling through her veins, burning her to the core. The persistence inside of her was its own living thing, an entity that sometimes could not be controlled, and could certainly never be denied. "Then what _is_ your thing?"

Quinn's eyebrows jumped at her reaction; okay, maniacal-energy eyes were back full-force with this girl. "Well, I was a cheerleader at my old school. I'm thinking about maybe trying out for the team here."

Rachel frowned: like her smiles, when she did so, she incorporated every facial muscle, as if conveying this particular emotion was a reflection straight from her soul. Brow furrowing, her mouth dipped down, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

Quinn couldn't help but to smile at the reaction, just a little bit; her brow puckered. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…" Rachel hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear, revealing a small gold star earring adorned on her earlobe. "I don't think you'll have enough time to do both. And I think you'll enjoy Glee more."

_But you barely even know me,_ Quinn thought. Instead, she whispered back, "I dunno… I like to sing, but I've only ever done so in church choir. And that's with a lot of other people, never as a solo."

"I can help you practice!" Rachel insisted, almost forgetting to whisper, as if convincing Quinn of this was life-or-death. "Auditions aren't until next week, which is plenty of time for you to learn some pointers and soak up some of my star talent."

Quinn rolled her lips together to fight off a smirk; Rachel's ego would be annoying if it weren't for the fact that she spoke about helping Quinn with pure sincerity and a dash of eager-to-please in her eyes.

"Maybe," Quinn said. "I'll think about it, okay?"

Rachel nodded. She figured that was good enough for now.

But hopefully, sooner rather than later, Quinn would choose Glee Club over Cheerios.

And in doing so, ultimately choose Rachel over popularity.

* * *

Rachel walked Quinn to her next class. She babbled about Glee Club and Barbra Streisand along the way, but Quinn found she didn't mind. If anything, the more she rambled, the more Quinn had to keep fighting away a smile.

"Here ya go," Rachel said, stopping outside the designated door. "I'll see you after class for lunch, okay? You know where the cafeteria is?"

"Yep." Quinn nodded. "I'll see you there."

Rachel did another one of her mega-watt beams. If the sun ever needed a day off, it could hire her grin to light up the world. "Great!" She lifted her arms and stepped forward, as if to hug Quinn, but then her eyes caught sight of something over Quinn's shoulder; her arms lowered, her smile twitched, and she backed away. "All right; I'll see you in forty-five minutes."

Twirling around, Rachel's thick brown locks fanned out, the ends brushing Quinn's nostrils and giving her a jolt of lavender-vanilla. She scampered off before Quinn could even question what her abrupt change of reaction had been about.

Frowning, Quinn turned around. She saw two girls dressed in cheerleading uniforms, whispering together a little ways down the hall.

Shrugging to herself, Quinn turned back around and entered the classroom. She chose a seat in the second row from the front. A quick scan of the area behind her told her that the room was mostly empty so far.

When she faced forward again, two girls stood before her, clad in red cheerleading uniforms and high ponytails. The same girls from the hallway, Quinn realized.

"Hey there," the raven-haired one with glowing skin said, offering a smile that showed off perfect teeth but didn't spark within her dark eyes. "I'm Santana, and this is my girl Brittany."

The tall blonde beside her lifted a hand. "Hey."

"Um, hey. I'm Quinn."

"Cool name," Santana said. Eyes squinting, she made no secret of looking Quinn up and down.

"Why are you sitting in the front? Only the losers sit this close up. Join me and Britts in the back row if you want to have some fun," Santana said, as if it were a friendly request.

But Quinn knew better; she'd played this game many times before.

It wasn't a request; it was a challenge, a passive-aggressive test of 'Are you with us…or against us?'

Quinn had grown tired of all the popularity mind-game bullshit back at the end of her old school. Funny enough, _she _had almost always been the one issuing them and never having to deal with them, but she was trying to put the Mean and Scary Quinn behind her and focus on being a better person this year.

Still, as she watched the two cheerleaders link pinkies and strut to the back of the room, tiny red skirts flapping up in the breeze and revealing taut, perky, built-in-red-underwear-covered asses, Quinn felt her resolve waver…and her head tilting to the side, eyes zooming in.

She swallowed against a drying throat.

What would it hurt to see what they were all about? Sit with them, at least just for today, and test out the waters of McKinley's elite?

Maybe it was against her better judgment, but nonetheless, Quinn grabbed her bag and followed them. She sat down on the other side of Santana.

"Good choice," Santana said with a wide smile, genuine but lacking warmth.

Quinn tried to smile back, but a weird coldness manifested in the pit of her stomach.

"So, Q," Santana said, tone _too _casual. "Britts and I saw you talking to _Rachel Berry _in the hallway earlier. _Twice_, actually." The way she said Rachel's name with such barely-concealed revulsion, and the way a loathsome scowl twisted on her mouth, tainting ugliness into a previously pretty face, made Quinn's stomach sicken further.

"Yeah," she said coolly. "What of it?"

"Oh, nothing," Santana shrugged. "It's just… Look, I want you to know that I have your back." Leaning in, she pressed a hand to Quinn's arm and widened her big brown eyes; thick lashes reached up to brush model-worthy eyebrows.

Everything about her radiated beauty, and yet Quinn had the urge to slap the girl's hand off her freaking arm, thank you very much.

"Okay, then I call dibs on her front!" Brittany said. "Like, the front is better than the back anyway, because that means I get her pretty face and her boobs." She gave an excited giggle and clapped her hands together, swaying in her seat.

Santana ignored Brittany while Quinn drew her head back and lifted her brow, like _Ohhhkaaayyy then…._

"You see, Q, Berry is what I like to call a super-geeky-annoying-loser-dorkface," Santana continued, recapturing Quinn's attention. "People don't like her. Not even her fellow bottom-feeders in her stupid Glee Club. Why? Because she's obnoxious, conceited, and weird as fuck. It's like she _tries_ to be annoyingly incompetent _on purpose_, because there's no way anyone can be that detestable naturally." She _finally_ pulled her hand away from Quinn's arm.

Quinn fought to maintain an indifferent expression. "I think she's nice."

"Who cares?" Santana snorted, rolling her eyes. "'Nice' doesn't mean anything in high school. There are the haves, and the have-nots. The haves, like me and Brittany, are worshipped by everyone and have our pick of the finest things. And do you want to know what happens to the have-nots at our school, like your little friend?" She didn't wait for a reply before answering. "They get Slushies thrown at them, insulted, thrown into lockers or dumpsters, and laughed at both behind their back and in front of their face. So tell me, Q. Do you want to be a have…or a have-not?"

Speechless from a confusing brew of emotions and the utter meanness of Santana's smirk, Quinn could only manage to repeat, a bit stupidly, "Rachel's really nice."

"She's _weird_," Santana snapped.

Images of Rachel flashed through Quinn's mind at that word.

'Weird.'

Argyle sweater vest. Knee-high socks paired with Bedazzled hot pink flats. Popping up out of nowhere and exclaiming, 'Hi!,' and almost giving Quinn a heart attack in the process. The way her eyes shone with something that may have been more crazed than passionate.

But then Quinn thought of that one bashful smile. The smallest of dimples on the rosiest of cheeks. Long, curled eyelashes. That quick, squeezing hug. The warmth and happiness of her laughter.

The teacher called attention to the class, leaving Quinn to sort through her reeling mind.

_Santana said, "She's _weird_," as if that settled everything._

In response, Quinn's mind provided two simple but profound words.

_So what?_

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Quinn strolled into the lunchroom, ignoring Santana and Brittany's presence on either side of her.

She'd tried to speed-walk away from them, but they had jogged to keep up with her, blathering on and on about some stupid guy's stupid weekend party or whatever. It didn't matter; Quinn wasn't listening enough to catch the details.

She was too busy searching the sea of people and tables for Rachel.

Santana noticed Quinn's eyes darting around; chuckling, she linked her elbow through Quinn's and smirked. "Oh, honey, don't worry about finding a table; the cheerleaders get the best, biggest one near the Slushie machines. You can sit with us."

"Yeah," Brittany grinned, taking Quinn's other elbow. "But we're only giving you this super-generous offer for today as a non-cheerleader; if you want to hang with us the whole school year, you'll need to make the squad. Right, San?"

Santana nodded. "Right. Auditions are today after school." She checked out Quinn's legs, lips pursing. When she spoke, it was with a fake smile that looked more like a grimace. "You have killer legs, so I'm sure you're athletic enough to make the cut."

Quinn tore her stony gaze away from the two cheerleaders; this time when she scanned the crowd, they fell on Rachel, sitting at a table all alone. She had a sack lunch in front of her, and must have been staring at Quinn first, because when their eyes met, Rachel's widened before jumping down to her hands, letting her hair swing forward and cover her face.

It was now or never, Quinn realized. She could either decide to be a popular cheerleader who ruled the school, everyone fearing and revering her as they ate from the palm of her hand. Just like last year.

Or, she could go sit with Rachel and, for once, be friends with someone who wasn't fake and rude, but also wasn't cool or even _liked_, for that matter. Which meant that _Quinn_ would also be disliked, looked down upon for hanging out with someone like her.

She turned back to Brittany and Santana's expectant faces and smiled at them. It wasn't easy, but she knew she'd just made the right choice.

* * *

Rachel stared down at her Tupperware container of salad.

She poked at it with a plastic fork, trying not to let her frown manifest from soul to face. She had to keep an unaffected appearance, but that was easier said than done when she had never felt stupider or more disappointed in her entire life.

How could she have actually believed a girl like Quinn would be friends with her?

Rachel thought back to how excited she'd been for lunch, skipping down to the cafeteria and taking a seat near the best window, waiting for Quinn to arrive; she closed her eyes against a hot wave of embarrassment.

She'd seen her, arms linked with Santana and Brittany, talking to _them_. They'd gotten to her already. The cheerleaders had stolen Quinn away, stolen Rachel's hope for a different, _good_ year.

She just hoped that when Quinn started talking bad about her, it would be behind her back and not to her face. Rachel didn't think she would be able to bear hearing her almost-friend trash-talk her firsthand. The thought made a pouty frown jut from her bottom lip; her eyes burned with tears. She wasn't the least bit hungry anymore.

"Is this seat taken?"

Rachel's pathetic expression leapt from her food and up to the speaker. Quickly, she tried to wipe her features into a clean slate, but when she discovered that it was none other than _Quinn_ standing before her, she felt her mouth drop open.

Quinn raised one eyebrow and gave an amused smile at Rachel's reaction.

"N-no! Go ahead!"

Smile widening, Quinn took the chair across from Rachel. "Why do you look so shocked?" she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea.

"I saw you with Brittany and Santana," Rachel said, chewing on her lower lip. "I thought that…"

"You thought that I wanted to be friends with those shallow, selfish, _boring _girls?" Quinn laughed. "_Please_." She rolled her eyes and waved a hand. "I did the whole vapid, soulless popularity thing last year. Trust me: it's not all it's cracked up to be."

That shy, dimpled, rosy smile tugged up Rachel's full lips again. She did that thing where she peered up from her eyelashes, and if Quinn hadn't been convinced before, she knew now that she had chosen the right option. The _only_ option.

Giggling, Rachel looked around for Santana and Brittany; she saw them in line, sulking with their trays and flashing them death glares. Rachel beamed in response and warmed from the inside-out, like nothing bad could ever touch her again. She turned back to Quinn, who was pulling a granola bar and sandwich from her purse.

"So," Quinn said, "When should we start working on our Glee Club audition?"

Rachel grinned from ear-to-ear.

Quinn grinned back.

And just like that, they were friends.


	3. Present - 2

**Chapter Three**

**_Present_**

Quinn didn't know how she managed to get through the day.

She must have stayed in the bathroom, staring down at that name, at those two words, until her face turned as white as the sheet of paper on which they were printed. Her world had just been flipped upside-down, the proverbial rug yanked from under her feet, and she was spinning and falling and succumbing to the black abyss.

But, eventually, she managed to click into auto-pilot, to get through the rest of her day by going through the motions.

At lunch, she ate in the restroom alone, instead of at her usual table with her coworker friends, avoiding having to suffer through inane chatter when her mind could only think of one thing.

Not that it really mattered where she ate lunch anyway, since she spilled coffee all over herself and had to spend the majority of it cleaning up the best she could.

While sorting the mail, she almost shredded an important document and kept the junk mail, correcting her mistake at the last possible second.

She jumped at small noises, and when she thought she heard someone say the name "Rachel," she spun around so fast that she whacked into the wall, hard enough to form a small bruise on her elbow.

It was the most off she'd ever been, including that nerve-racking week at work last year where there were rumors of lay-offs going around and she had been convinced that she would be fired.

Finally, _finally_, the day ticked to an end, and Quinn was hopping out of a yellow taxi cab and walking up the three flights of stairs to her apartment.

She entered, flicked on the light, and locked the door behind her. This would be the part where she would think _home, sweet home_, but the truth was, there weren't all that many 'sweet' or 'homely' aspects to her apartment.

Tiny kitchenette attached to a living room with a single couch and modest-sized TV. Wooden floorboards in need of a polish sported a gold-and-russet rug between the couch and television; that, and the faux-gilt-framed watercolor painting of the Eiffel tower (which she had found for ten dollars on eBay) mounted on the beige wall were the only decorations.

Then there was one small, plain bedroom with a double bed and shoe-box-sized closet. Add in the adjoining bathroom with the painstakingly perfected nautical theme (she had to make at least _something_ cheery about this place), and you had yourself a cheap place to live.

Quinn had a growing savings account in store for the day she finally moved out of here and into a penthouse apartment. A place where she could keep pets other than cockroaches.

Still, living here on her own was better than having to suffer through sharing a cramped door room with a roommate for her last years of college. And just because she was alone most of the time, that didn't mean she was _lonely_. No, of course not. It just… It meant that… That she had ample amounts of peace and quiet, every which way she turned. And you couldn't go wrong with that, now could you?

In the microwave, she heated up leftovers from last night's dinner, her stomach growling in anticipation. As she went through yet another set of motions for the day, eating and chewing and swallowing but not really tasting anything at all, she forced herself to concentrate on every tiny menial task so as not to think about…that other thing.

So as not to think about… about… _her_.

Quinn speared some of her grilled chicken and popped it in her mouth. She stared at the "kitchen" wallpaper, dark red with silhouettes of golden leaves. Don't think, don't think, golden leaves, chew your food, don't think….

_Rachel._

_Damn it!_

Sighing deeply in frustration, Quinn flung her fork onto her half-empty plate and jumped up from the table for two.

This just wasn't going to work. There was no way she could _not_ think about and obsess over the fact that she had been assigned to interview and photograph Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry, whom she had not seen or heard from in _three years_.

Since Quinn had deleted her Facebook and all other types of social media, she didn't even know what the girl _looked_ like anymore. She could be the exact same since their last encounter, or she could have changed enough to where Quinn wouldn't even be able to recognize her.

Even after all these years, Quinn felt the strangest sort of panic slap her chest like a cold hand. The idea of not recognizing Rachel, of having drifted so far apart that the girl was now but a mere speck of a shape, floating faraway at sea, made Quinn's stomach writhe hard enough to make her regret eating dinner.

But the truth was, Quinn needn't worry about Rachel having drifted.

No, she was far away, all right, but she hadn't reached that distance by _drifting_; she had gotten there from a combination of Quinn running forward while shoving Rachel back, ensuring that not even the longest or most persistent of arms could span that whistling gap.

No longer the least bit hungry, Quinn abandoned her food and marched into her bedroom. She peeled off her blazer, which stank of stale coffee remnants anyway, and threw it into her clothes hamper.

A shower. She needed a nice long, warm shower to clear her mind and refresh her senses.

Once in the bathroom, Quinn locked the door and stripped down naked. The moment she stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed, she released a little sigh.

Besides storybooks, the shower had always been her sanctuary, a place to shut off the world, relax, and just _be_. To just simply _exist_, with no rhyme or reason, no worries besides lather-rinse-repeating and scrubbing the grime off her skin.

Her fingers trembled just as bit as she fumbled with the knobs, and then – _Ahhh, _there it was. Hot water droplets cascading atop her head, running down her body in soothing rivulets.

She closed her eyes as her fingertips kneaded shampoo into her scalp, digging deep enough to rid the kinks from her brain, to wash the troubles from her mind.

Her eyelids sprang back open, not even a second after sealing.

She tried to concentrate on her shower routine, tried to pretend like there was nothing the matter, but that proved impossible from the way her heart thumped like a jack-rabbit's foot. From the way her thoughts raced in a thousand different directions, little interlocking routes and roads around one giant picture now seared into the front of her mind.

No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, she couldn't turn away from the image of Rachel's tear-streaked face, a mental photograph that had been captured on the last night they saw each other.

Quinn had the sudden urge to wash her eyes out with shampoo.

* * *

"You sure you don't need anything? More tea? Another blanket? Do you want me to put on _Funny Girl_? Seriously, Rach, you're sure you're okay?"

Rachel's lips pulled back the tiniest bit, the bulk of her appreciation showing in her eyes. "No, thank you. Honestly, Jesse, I'm fine," she said, waiting a beat before adding, "But the carpet won't be if you keep pacing like that." The wryest of smiles inched back her lips.

Jesse flopped down beside Rachel on the loveseat; it was a tight squeeze, their sides squished together and the sharpness of Rachel's hipbone digging into the belt of his jeans. Jesse turned into her, slinging an arm around her tiny body and guiding her head down onto his chest.

"No," he said, dropping his chin atop her soft brown hair. "You're not fine. 'Fine' is not fainting in the hallway; 'fine' is not having to take the rest of the day off rehearsal; 'fine' is not – "

"Hey!" Rachel said. "That's not fair. I didn't _want_ to take the day off; Fletcher _made _me because you and Christina had to run your big mouths about me having a momentary fit of exhaustion."

"You passed out cold, Rach. That wasn't a 'momentary fit of exhaustion,' that was a 'major freak-out scary faint' that had me worried my leading lady was down for the count."

Rachel snuggled further into Jesse, basking in his body heat, in the subtle smell of his familiar cologne. "Don't you worry about _that_," she said, lifting a blind hand upward and feeling her forefinger connect with its designated target: a gentle flick on the tip of Jesse's nose before retreating back into her lap. "I could never be down for the count. Actual death couldn't keep me away from performing that role on Broadway; if my ghost has to take over as my understudy, so be it, but it _will _be me playing Betty."

Jesse smiled to himself, biting down on his lower lip to stop it from bursting into a full-out grin. A chuckle warmed deep within his throat, spilling from his mouth before he had time to stop it.

"What?" Rachel demanded. "What's so funny?"

"You are," he said, angling his head downward so his cheek could lay on her head. He closed his eyes, breathing in her light floral fragrance. "Your steadfast determination and steely resolve even amidst the most trying of times is one of the things I love best about you."

"Yeah," Rachel said, so quietly that Jesse almost didn't hear her. "That's me – Miss Determination." It was lame even to _her_ ears, so weak and with such forced mirth that fell flat. She cringed, shook her head a bit, jostling the side of Jesse's the slightest fraction.

He opened his eyes and pulled his neck away, compensating by tightening his arm further around her. "Rachel. Look at me."

She didn't.

"Rachel, please."

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, she shifted to the side, leaning back her neck and peering up at him from doe-like brown eyes. There was so much innocence, expectation, and utter vulnerability in those eyes; they ripped Jesse right to his core, as if he were shouldering the weight of both their pain.

"Talk to me," he said. "Let me know what's on your mind."

Rachel pressed her lips together, hard enough to bleed out all the color. Hard enough to keep herself from screaming, from bursting, from releasing the torrent of emotion building within her. Her skin felt cold and numb on the surface, but inside she was beginning to boil, popping and simmering and coming alive with so many thoughts and cares and damn _feelings_.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Jesse said. "You can cancel the interview."

She shook her head, fast. "What kind of woman would I be if I did that? I'd be a coward, Jesse. And the question of it all, wondering what would have happened if I had gone… It would kill me."

"What are you expecting to happen?" Jesse raised his eyebrows. "That the two of you will patch things up?" His tone hardened. "That you'll get back together?"

Rachel pinched her lips together, resisting the urge to flinch, or maybe shiver. "No. Of course not. I guess I just…maybe I need closure."

Jesse sighed, the soft, warm air of his breath tickling Rachel's scalp. "Okay. If you need to, then do it. I just hope you're not making a mistake."

"Yeah," Rachel emitted a dry, colorless laugh. "Same here."

Seeing nothing else to do, Jesse wrapped both his arms around Rachel's waist, cradled her like a breakable doll, and held her.

She didn't cry, she didn't moan, she didn't make a peep, and she didn't know if that was because of how numb she felt, or because Jesse's strong arms were anchoring her against him.

But as time slipped by in immeasurable amounts, and as her eyelids turned heavy enough to fall into a doze, she thought to herself that her state of semi-peace had more to do with a warm embrace than anything else.


	4. Past - 2

The longest chapter so far, but also one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy! :D Thanks for all the support.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**_May 2010 – 10__th__ Grade_**

Nine months ago, Rachel's mantra had been for her sophomore year to be 'different and good.'

It turned out, her mantra had not just met but had _surpassed _her high expectations.

And Rachel had Quinn to thank for most of that.

Having the blonde alongside her had made Rachel's second year of high school not just tolerable, but actually enjoyable and fun.

They'd had numerous sleepovers at each other's houses, hung out all the time after school, took the same route to their classes, and spent lunchtime laughing over inside jokes both old and new – the kind of friendship Rachel had always dreamt of but never expected to actually get.

It was lonely at the top, she'd always known, until Quinn Fabray came into her life.

During the first week of their then-budding friendship, the girls had treaded carefully, engaging in conversations that were _too_ polite and apologizing right away if they thought they'd said something to offend the other. But that very weekend, Rachel had wasted no time in inviting Quinn to stay over.

That Friday night, Quinn walked into Rachel's house as her friend; Saturday afternoon, she left as her _close _friend.

And just a month or two later, their relationship had fully blossomed into the sweetest perennial flower of that elusive Best Friendship that Rachel had craved all her life. Once she had a taste of its delicious nectar, she forever yearned for more, knowing that life with Quinn by her side meant blissful, carefree, genuine happiness that came from connecting personalities, a corresponding sense of humor, and the unconditional love of two girls practically like sisters.

Never before had Rachel that sort of care and affection shown to her by anyone other than her family members; it was nothing short of amazing, and she would spend nothing short of eternity being forever thankful to God for sending Quinn her way after such an abysmal previous "friendship" track record.

That was the 'good' of her year.

The 'different' could be seen by a quick scan of the choir room.

It was the last Wednesday of the school year, and though Glee Club met on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, today was the final meeting of the year, as well. Thursday and Friday were both half-days reserved for final exams, so Mr. Schue had gone ahead and cancelled Friday's rehearsal.

It's not like they were really _rehearsing_, anyway; rather, they were all milling around the room, munching from the snack bar they had each contributed to. They were throwing their own little party, half-farewell-until-August, and half-celebration-of-their-success (making it to Regionals against the odds, anybody?).

During Glee's first few weeks as a reborn club (Mr. Schue had replaced the negligent Sandy Ryerson, and almost all of last year's members didn't bother to try-out again), Rachel, Quinn, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Mercedes Jones, and Kurt Hummel had been the only members of what was soon titled "New Directions."

But then, slowly but surely, more and more people trickled in.

First it was Finn Hudson, captain of the football team and cute in that goofy, boy-next-door way; some other footballers joined shortly after, such as Mike Chang, Sam Evans, and Noah "Puck" Puckerman.

And last, not least, but definitely the most surprising, Brittany and Santana had joined New Directions, just in time for the club to have the minimum twelve people to compete in the Sectionals competition.

At first, the two cheerleaders had only been in it to be spies for their coach, Sue Sylvester. Sue had had a truly bizarre and scarily passionate vendetta against Glee, fighting each day to bring the club down.

Eventually, Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester came to a truce, and when Santana and Brittany were told they didn't have to infiltrate Glee Club anymore, Sue had been shocked when they asked her if they could stay part of the New Directions _and_ continue being cheerleaders. And then _they _had been shocked when Sue said yes.

All in all, the year had been one of many surprises, of highs and lows, but most importantly, of a group of people coming together thrice-weekly to _celebrate_ their differences through song and dance, rather than to exclude people because of them.

However, one thing the club could count on, at least once a week, was one of Rachel's "diva moments."

Okay, less diva "moment," and more diva "life." The Glee Clubbers had stopped taking count of the number of times she stormed out of the choir room day after day because she felt underappreciated by everyone but Quinn, or because _she_ deserved that solo and this solo and _every solo,_ no matter what.

It had gotten to the point where her dramatic storm-outs were no longer dramatic at all, but rather just predictable. And, as far as all members of New Directions but Rachel (and Quinn, of course) were concerned, the worst part was that Mr. Schue seemed to always _reward _her behavior by giving her all the solos or the most lines in ensemble performances.

But then, something changed.

After they lost at Regionals three months ago, Rachel cut back on her diva tirades, realizing that they needed to be a team and not a one-woman show if they wanted to make it all the way to Nationals.

However, though she had been making a noticeable effort to include others and not hog all the solos, she still spoke in a superior tone most of the time, and she still didn't shy away from bossing around the "lazy" members or showing them the _proper_ way to execute a certain dance move.

But right then, on the last Glee Club meeting of the school year, no one rolled their eyes at Rachel or shot her sidelong glances or excluded her from their conversations. Rather, spirits were high and accepting as everyone mixed and mingled, laughing and sipping sparkling cider from red Solo cups.

"All right, you guys," Mr. Schue yelled over the noise. "Settle down, settle down."

Rachel slid a step closer to Quinn and grabbed her hand within hers in one fluid motion. They exchanged jubilant grins before Rachel's eyes looked back to their teacher.

And Quinn's eyes stayed locked on Rachel's profile.

They drank in the curve of Rachel's nose; the way her long, thick hair fell in a tapered curtain to her perky breast; the way said hair was parted to Rachel's side today in a more mature style.

As everyone paid attention to Mr. Schue, for the life of her, Quinn couldn't understand how come she was the only one who couldn't stop sneaking glances at Rachel.

"We had a _great_ year! I am _so _proud of us. We made it to Regionals!"

"Oh yeah!" Tina, Kurt, and Mercedes cheered as one, thrusting their cups upward. They burst into giggles at the unplanned synchronicity.

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand; Quinn's heart squeezed back.

"Yeah!" Mr. Schue laughed, nodding his approval at their enthusiasm. "Making it to Regionals was a hee-_uge_ accomplishment, considering it's the first time Glee has ever made it past Sectionals in _ten years!_"

A round of applause from everyone; Rachel and Quinn settled for "_Whoo!_"ing, not wanting to clap and have to separate their hands.

"But I want us to aim higher for next year," Mr. Schue continued. "Instead of shooting for Regionals, let's work our butts off to not just _make_ it to Nationals, but to _win _Nationals! I know that we can do this! To Nationals!" He lifted his cup in the air, and it was uncertain which was raised higher: his drink, or the corners of his mouth.

Everyone gathered around him in a circle and followed suit, thrusting out their cups, grinning like fools, and chanting, "To Nationals!"

Quinn and Rachel kept their cups up high and their spirits up higher.

And between them, they kept their hands linked, fingers squeezing around each other's knuckles.

After they lowered their cups (Rachel's, to her side; Quinn's, to her lips), and even after the circle broke apart, their hands remained together.

* * *

"Do you want something to drink?" Rachel asked thirty minutes later, closing her house's front door behind them.

Quinn shook her head and smiled. "Nah. Thanks, though. Are your dads working late again?"

"They'll be home the usual time, around seven. So, we have about an hour and a half to throw a raucous party; I'll go get the beers, and you can set up the stripper pole," Rachel said, throwing a wink over her shoulder as she led Quinn upstairs.

Quinn laughed. "I don't know, Rach; the last time we mixed beer with stripping, I almost stabbed Kurt's eye out on the end of my heel."

"Amateur mistake," Rachel chuckled. "You've had enough practice since then to avoid any mishaps."

"Your faith in my stripper capabilities is very moving; thank you."

"That's what friends are for." Rachel stopped at the second door down the upstairs hallway: her bedroom, with the pale-pink-painted door and the glittery gold sign with stars all over it hanging from the doorknob, proclaiming, 'A STAR LIVES HERE!'

Rachel opened the door, let Quinn enter first, and then followed after, shutting the door behind her with the heel of her silver ballet flat.

Quinn made a beeline for the comfy chair behind Rachel's desk, pulling it out and plopping down right away. She stuck her tongue out at Rachel and crinkled her nose. "Suckaahh!"

"You may have been victorious that time, but don't hold your breath for the next," Rachel teased, sitting down on the end of her bed, at the corner close to where Quinn was perched. She stuck out her foot and gently kicked Quinn's shin.

"Sore loser!" Quinn kicked Rachel's ankle, a bit harder than Rachel's kick had been.

"Sore _winner_," Rachel retorted, thumping her foot against the bottom of Quinn's red sandals.

A short but fierce foot-war broke out, with both girls trying to get their foot on top of the other's, ankles locking and bumping, and tip of shoe grazing up each other's bare shin or calf.

They stopped, giggling like crazy.

"I so won that one," Rachel said, returning her foot back onto the ground beside her other.

"Yeah, you did, because you had me rubbing up all over you," Quinn quipped with a devilish smirk.

"Considering _you_ had _my_ ankle touching you, I would say that you're also the winner," Rachel shot back.

"Okay, so we're _both_ winners then," Quinn said.

The way they smirked and giggled and blushed just a bit, it almost felt like flirting.

You know, if best friends flirted, that is.

Which they don't… Especially not two _girl_ best friends.

"Let's move on to why you came over in the first place," Rachel said, reaching into her backpack beside her on the bed. She pulled out her yearbook and dropped it into Quinn's lap. "Sign mine, and make it sappy and sweet."

Quinn grabbed her own yearbook and handed it to Rachel. "Same goes for you."

Rachel flipped through Quinn's _Thunderclap_, pretending like she was looking for a blank place to write, even though they had both reserved the back page for each other. In actuality, Rachel was surveying all of the many signatures and freaking _paragraphs_ that people had written to Quinn. There were no trite 'H.A.G.S.!'s, or forced 'don't ever change's; it was all original, heartfelt messages.

She didn't let herself actually _read_ them, though; that would be prying. Rather, she skimmed over them. But when her hungry eyes fell open Tina's signature and the string of words preceding it, her heart stopped for a moment, and she nibbled on her lower lip as she read the note. She couldn't help it; her intense curiosity got the best of her sometimes.

'_Quinn,'_ Tina had written, _'You are such a cool girl. You always wear the cutest clothes, you manage to tell it like it is without being mean, and you always smile at me in the halls. It's too bad we didn't hang out that much outside of Glee. Text me sometime! XOXO, Tina._' And there, sure enough, was her cell phone number.

Rachel's head spun; her stomach clenched; her brow furrowed. She snapped the yearbook closed, loud enough that Quinn looked up from writing in Rachel's.

"Done already?" Quinn asked, head cocked to the side. When she took in Rachel's expression, her brow cocked, too.

"Did you read what Tina wrote in your yearbook?"

"Not yet… Why? Did _you?_" Quinn pursed her lips.

"Yes," Rachel said, having the decency to look sheepish. But that lasted for all of a second before she radiated with indignity again. "Do you know what she put in _my_ yearbook?"

"Nope," Quinn frowned. "But I'm guessing it's upsetting you."

"In your yearbook – _spoiler alert!_ – she waxed on about how '_cool_' you are and how it's too bad you guys aren't best buddies and 'text me' followed by her phone number!"

"… So?"

"_So_, in _my_ yearbook, all she put was, 'you're a true star, Rachel. You'll go far in life. Can't wait to see you on Broadway. XOXO, Tina.' Something like that." Rachel threw her arms up and widened her eyes at Quinn. "She didn't include a phone number or say anything about wishing we were better friends!"

Quinn sighed. "Rach… Look, you can't keep reading into people's motives. Tina gave you a compliment with what she said; who cares if she didn't give you her phone number? It's not like you gave her yours, right?"

"I gave everyone in Glee my number at the start of year when I was elected captain," Rachel huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

Quinn refrained from pointing out that Rachel had only been "elected" captain because no one else had wanted it. Instead, she set aside Rachel's yearbook for later and opted for giving her best friend an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry about it; you think that nobody but me likes you, but that is _so_ not true. You have the whole Glee Club as friends, even if they aren't that good at showing it sometimes. But I promise you are more liked and definitely more _admired_ than you realize, okay?" She leaned in and rested a hand on Rachel's elbow, still folded atop her chest.

"Now wipe away that pouty face and smile like you just won your first Tony Award," Quinn said, jabbing her finger at Rachel and shooting her a mock-stern expression.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but her mouth leapt upward. Damn Quinn and her adorableness!

"That's more like it!" Quinn barked, trying not to smile back. "You know what will _really_ cheer you up?"

"Dinner with Barbra?"

"Well _yeah_, but I was thinking more along the lines of you singing to me."

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Rachel jumped up from the bed and hurried over to the iPod dock sitting on her desk.

Quinn grinned and clapped her hands together, eager to watch the human star that was Rachel Berry perform and wow the figurative-socks off of her; using karaoke as a means of cheering up Rachel may have been more self-serving than she let on.

"Which song do you want me to sing?"

"You know which one," Quinn scoffed playfully.

"Of course," Rachel shot back in a 'how could I have been so stupid?' tone.

As she scrolled through her albums to find Quinn's favorite song for her to perform (and one of her top five favorites to sing, as well), Quinn checked out Rachel's outfit.

Rachel was known for sporting such odd fashion choices as sweaters with stuffed animals pinned on them, dresses with bright and childlike prints, and outfits that matched _too_ much. Plus, knee-socks, argyle, and the occasional pair of penny loafers.

But today, she wore an ensemble that was very becoming on her, Quinn noticed. (_Boy_ did Quinn notice.)

Rachel had on a cap-sleeved, tight white shirt tucked into a white miniskirt with a delicate floral print of cobalt blue snaking all around it. That, with her side-parted hairstyle; long, lean legs poking out from her skirt; and the metallic silver flats, made Rachel look _lovely_.

Quinn was so busy staring at Rachel that, when the girl in question plucked up her magenta hairbrush and stepped front-and-center after hitting the iPod's 'Play' button, she had to tell herself to stop noticing the length and shapeliness to Rachel's legs, or the smoothness of her arms, or the way her shirt was so tight across her breasts….

Rachel cleared her throat as the opening notes of the karaoke-version of "Don't Rain On My Parade" filled the room; Quinn snapped her attention onto the diva's face, rather than letting it roam all over her impressive body.

Rachel rolled her shoulders back, cracked her neck around to rid any kinks, and then latched her passion-driven eyes right on top of Quinn's excited ones.

Rachel started swaying to the music. She opened her mouth and out poured her talent, her heart, her very soul, pitch-perfect and soaring and everything that was right in the world.

"_Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life's candy, and the sun's a ball of butter. Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade!_"

And as she sang and danced and performed the hell out of that song, out of the national anthem of Rachel Barbra Berry Land, the bedroom transformed into a Broadway stage as the ceiling fan's light bulbs turned into spotlights shining down on her. That hairbrush clutched in her hand was now a sleek black microphone, amplifying her gorgeous, ear-candy voice for the whole world to hear.

As Rachel strode across the room, pointed sassily at Quinn a few times, and diva-fied the entire atmosphere with pure, crackling, star-bright _talent_, she felt as weightless as a cloud but as powerful as a bolt of lightning. This was what she was made for, what she was born to do, what had become her life's destiny ever since she was conceived in the womb: To become a legendary Broadway star.

As far as Quinn was concerned, Rachel was already the brightest star in the galaxy.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from the pint-sized powerhouse. She couldn't tune her ears into a different frequency besides the beautiful notes soaring from the brunette's lips. Not that she _wanted_ to look away or stop listening, but even if she had, it would have been impossible to do so.

Oftentimes, Quinn loved to capture moments on her camera, to save them for all of eternity (or, if digital, until she hit the 'Delete' button). But there were certain things in life that demanded to be seen in person. There were certain things that held a power and importance that transcended film.

Certain things needed to be captured by sight and memory, not behind the lens of a camera.

Rachel's performances were the definition of these "certain things."

The song began drawing to a close, much too soon as always, the final notes requiring Rachel to pull out all the stops and hit her highest pitches yet.

She didn't just hit those pitches; she _nailed_ them, flew right through them and sent them exploding into bursts of stardust.

"_Get ready for me, love, 'cause I'm a comer,_" she jabbed a fierce finger at Quinn, whose heart nearly stopped at the intensity of the words. "_I simply gotta march; my heart's a drummer!_"

Rachel's eyes wound shut, her hand dove into the air as if pushing out her feelings, and her other hand pulled the hairbrush closer toward her as if belting into a microphone.

"_Nobody, no, nobody! Is gonna rain on my… PAAAAARRR…AAAAAAAAAADE!_"

The background music shut off as Rachel's last magnificent breath saturated the air with ringing bravado and saturated Quinn's skin with an array of chills. Even the little hairs on the back of Quinn's neck were stiffened.

Rachel's chest heaved as she caught her breath; the widest of grins lit her from within. Staring at Quinn's awe-struck expression, enthused smile, and clapping hands, Rachel felt the best kind of energy buzzing all through her.

She set her hairbrush back on the bureau. "How was I?" she started to ask, but was cut off mid-"how" when a pair of arms encircled her side, spun her stomach-to-stomach with their owner, and lifted her off the ground.

She guessed she had her answer.

An excited peal of giggles erupted from Rachel's throat as Quinn hugged her tight and twirled her through the air; Rachel folded her calves to the back of her knees to allow faster movement. Her skirt fanned out over the middle of her thighs.

"I have goosebumps all over," Quinn's laughter tickled right above Rachel's ear. "You were _amazing,_ as always!"

Rachel had goosebumps all over now, too – particularly right above her ear, down her neck. Her breath hitched as Quinn set her back down.

"Thanks," she said, smiling up at her.

Quinn's eyes sparkled, cheeks flushed a dainty pink, and her grin showed off perfect teeth and true happiness: To Rachel, she had never looked more beautiful.

"Of course; just telling it like it is." Quinn fiddled with a lock of her long blonde hair, twisting it 'round and 'round her forefinger.

After a moment of a silence that wasn't awkward but seemed like it was charged with _something_, Rachel said, "You know what we should do now?"

"What?"

"You should interview me!"

Quinn's eyes brightened. She never got tired of interviewing Rachel; the future-star was the perfect subject for Quinn to practice her reporting skills. "Yeah, okay! Take a seat, Miss Berry."

Rachel obliged, settling down on the floor with her legs tucked at her side. She leaned her back against the bed as Quinn snatched up Rachel's hairbrush. Sitting down cross-legged in front of her, Quinn made sure that her white sleeveless sundress with the red belt cinched around the middle was draped over her lap.

Where Rachel had singing as her birthright, Quinn had reporting-slash-photography. Thus, one of their favorite things to do together was to either sing and dance or to play a game where Quinn interviewed Rachel.

They loved to switch it up; sometimes, Rachel played the part of bitchy-diva-ex-Broadway-star-past-her-prime. Sometimes, she was the lovable-and-naïve-young-ingénue. And most popularly, she was her future self, making up stories involving their Glee Club friends and how their support helped her get to the top.

Meanwhile, Quinn took turns being the hard-hitting/ruthless reporter, the gossip-hungry/meritless reporter, or the type of reporter she wanted to be in the future – honest, caring, and unrelenting without being hostile.

In addition to being just plain _fun,_ the game was also a way for Rachel to practice a wide-range of acting abilities and for Quinn to become more adept at handling various situations and improvising some great questions.

So, all in all, it was win/win to the highest degree.

"Which role am I today?" Rachel asked, running her fingers through her hair and fixing it to fall in front of her shoulders.

"Actually, I was thinking we could shake it up a bit. Instead of playing a part, how about we play ourselves?"

"You mean our future selves?"

"No, like, how about I interview you as who you are now, as present-day Rachel Berry? And I'll just be myself, regular ol' Quinn."

"_Regular" ol' Quinn?_ Rachel thought. _Puh-leeze!_ _As if there's anything "regular" about Quinn._ Aloud, she said, "Sure!"

"Okay," Quinn straightened her posture. "First, we need to start by making introductions." She cleared her throat and held out her hand. The first part, the 'introduction,' was the easiest; they tended to use the same phrasing every time.

"Hello, my name's Quinn Fabray, and I'll be interviewing you today."

Rachel gave Quinn a subtle once-over, as if seeing her for the first time, and offered a mega-watt beam as she slipped her hand into hers.

"Hello; I'm Rachel Berry. It's a pleasure, Ms. Fabray."

Their hands squeezed together, pumping up and down… And there seemed to be a strange electricity flowing from their fingertips, crisscrossing each other and shooting up the other's arm. When they dropped hands and returned them to their laps, Rachel felt disappointed to not be touching Quinn anymore – as did Quinn with Rachel.

"How are you enjoying your day so far?" Quinn spoke into the hairbrush as if it were a microphone, or maybe a tape recorder. When it was Rachel's turn to speak, she held it out for her to talk into.

"Oh, it's _lovely_," Rachel widened her eyes and nodded. Quinn bit back a grin at the girl's adorableness. "Today is one of the last days of my sophomore year, and I'm looking forward to summer."

"Really?" Quinn knew she had her first real question now. "And why's that?"

"Because I get to spend all of it in New York," Rachel bubbled with pride. "I was accepted into the Tisch School of Art's exclusive summer theatre program! I am one of a hundred chosen from _thousands_ of applicants."

Even though Quinn had known about this from the moment Rachel found out she'd gotten in two months ago, she feigned surprise. "Wow! That's incredible!" The smile that graced her face was one-hundred-percent real, though. "How did you audition for a New York summer program when you live in Ohio? Did you have to drive down there?"

"Nope; I sent in a video of me singing 'Taking Chances' by Celine Dion_._"

"Why did you choose that song?" Quinn asked, and this time she really _was _surprised. She'd been under the assumption that Rachel had chosen a Barbra classic as her audition piece – most likely 'Don't Rain On My Parade,' or maybe 'Funny Girl.'

"It has both low and high notes; both soft lines and lines that need to be belted – it's incredibly aurally diverse and has a quiet kind of strength throughout. I felt that I was able to really hone in on a passionate performance," Rachel said, matter-of-factly.

But then her gaze shifted down before peering up beneath impossibly long, curled-and-separated lashes. In a gentle tone, she added, "Actually, I was thinking of you when I sang it. The song is about taking a chance on love, but I was thinking more along the lines of taking a chance on friendship. You know, to open up your heart and let someone else in." She bit down on the corner of her bottom lip and tugged it into a slant, plumping it around her front teeth.

Quinn stared at Rachel's mouth so hard for a moment, she almost dropped the hairbrush.

"I filmed the video the day after we met," she explained, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear and revealing her trademark gold star earring nestled into the lobe.

The intense way Rachel looked at her, the way she spoke, the weight of the _words _she spoke – it all stole Quinn's next breath right out of her lungs.

"Wow," she whispered. "Um, I'm flattered, Rach." _There's my understatement of the century._

Quinn cleared her throat and jumped into the next question, hoping it would help return the atmosphere of the room back to something less heavy and less…confusing.

"When you said you chose 'Taking Chances,' my next thought besides being surprised it wasn't a Broadway or Barbra tune, was, 'Oh, I bet she dedicated that to Finn Hudson,'" Quinn said, smirking delightedly at the way Rachel rolled her eyes and gave a huff.

"Oh, God! Do we _have_ to talk about him?" she whined.

"Of course! Your private life and romantic history is something our readers are very interested in, Rachel," Quinn said in a mock-serious, scolding manner.

So, in rebuttal, Rachel gave the most celebrity-esque answer of them all: "No comment."

Quinn threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, come on! You can't take the easy way out."

Rachel couldn't help but to return a few chuckles at Quinn's guffawing. "All right, so I dated him for two weeks, seven months ago; what's the big deal? He's nice, cute, a talented singer, and if I remember correctly, _you_ were the only one who kept rallying for our break-up."

That last comment sobered Quinn in a snap; a professional, blank expression took over her face and she straightened her posture again. She hoped the blush cooking beneath her face wasn't noticeable.

She _really_ hoped it wasn't noticeable.

"Care to reply to _that_, Quinn?" Now it was Rachel's turn to smirk.

"There's no monopolizing this interview," Quinn said as lightly as she could. "I'll be the one asking the questions, thank you very much."

"You hated Finn when I was dating him, but then you went back to talking to him like he was an okay guy right after we broke up," Rachel continued, tapping her chin and flicking ponderous eyes up to the ceiling. "From our very first date, you told me how unworthy he was for me, how I could do better."

"Yeah? So?" Quinn snapped, scowling at Rachel's _too_-innocent expression. "I was just being a good friend and looking out for you. He was a little boy and you deserve a real wo…"

_Oh my God!_ She cut herself off abruptly, not daring to finish that word with a 'man' at the end. Not daring to give away _everything _in one little slip-up.

"A real _wonderful,_" she said as if she hadn't stuttered in the first place, "man for you."

Rachel didn't like how wound up Quinn was getting about this. She decided to throw the girl a bone. "You're right; he was rather immature, and he kept forgetting I'm vegan."

"Exactly," Quinn said, breathing a sigh of relief. And then the perfect idea struck her, making her sit up taller and tighten her grip on the hairbrush-turned-microphone. "So, speaking of unworthy guys, what _is_ your perfect idea of a boyfriend?"

Rachel got a faraway look in her eyes; she smiled wistfully and began fiddling her fingers together. For some reason, she couldn't look Quinn in the eyes when she spoke; rather, she focused on staring down at her hands.

"Someone with talent, ambition, and a real _purpose_ to their life," she said. "Someone who makes me laugh. Someone who will never, ever leave me because they can't imagine their life without me. Someone who makes me feel so special and so beautiful, and…and someone who, when they kiss me… It's like everything…" She licked her lips and looked up at Quinn, locking brown to green. "Like everything just clicks into place."

Quinn's heart skipped a beat. "Y-yeah. That's… That sounds pretty perfect."

"How about you?" Rachel asked, fingers worrying away at an invisible thread on her skirt's hemline. "What's your ideal boyfriend?"

Quinn knew she needed to be careful with what she said. She knew she needed to be casual, maybe throw in some girlish giggles for good measure.

But the way she and Rachel were staring at each other… Well, nothing felt _casual_ about it.

"I want someone who believes in something bigger than them; someone who has an epic dream that they're not afraid to spend their whole life chasing. Someone who I can be myself around – no make-up, just sweats and a ponytail, and they still think I'm gorgeous," Quinn said with a little shrug and a delicate but profound little smile. "I want someone who's funny, a blast to be around, but they know how to take the important things seriously, too. I want my other-half, my best friend and lover and biggest supporter and biggest challenger all at once."

_I want someone like you,_ she added, but only in her mind.

Always only in her mind.

"Well whoever he is, he's one lucky guy," Rachel said, trying not to sound too bitter. She forced a big smile and slipped into a cutesy voice, "Just promise me one thing, Quinnie."

"Anything."

"No matter _whom_ we get as boyfriends, we won't forget about each other. Best friends will always come first." Her eyes were so big, shining with such earnestness and a splash of actual fear; it reflected what Quinn was feeling on the inside.

Rachel held out her pinkie.

"I promise," Quinn said, curling her pinkie around Rachel's, shaking, and then releasing.

"You know," Rachel said, biting down on her lower lip again, eyes turning shy. "While we're on the subject of boys, I guess now is the time to admit that I've never been kissed."

"Oh?" Quinn's heart picked up speed.

"Yeah," Rachel said, clearing her throat. When she resumed talking, she sounded much more casual and comfortable than before. Just a hint of embarrassment sizzled beneath her words, barely even noticeable. "I mean, there was this one boy. At musical theatre camp last summer? He almost kissed me, but then he saw this really pretty redhead girl with big breasts walking by, and he ran off to hit on her instead."

Quinn cracked a sympathetic half-smile. "He sounds like a total douche, so it's a good thing you didn't waste your first kiss on him anyway. Also, big boobs are _completely_ overrated."

She set the hairbrush off to the side, their interview forgotten for now. Because _this_ kind of information was definitely going _off_ the record.

Rachel stroked the ends of her hair and giggled. "You think so?"

"Yeah! Like, you and me? It, it makes us look... It makes us look...elegant!"

Rachel pressed her lips together and smiled, dimples coming out to play. "I dunno... I've always wanted bigger ones. Sometimes, I feel so boyish." She ducked her head to hide her reddening cheeks.

"Trust me, Rach; you have a great body," Quinn said, her own cheeks warming like a sunburn. She gave a quick, breezy-as-can-be laugh. "Y'know, I mean, like, who knows? You may just be a late bloomer. Two years from now, you could have boobs that make Dolly Parton weep with envy."

Rachel threw her head back and laughed.

Egged on by Rachel's amused reaction, Quinn broke out in a full-fledged grin. "You think your ambition is huge? Wait until your boobs arrive. They'll need their own dressing room and make-up trailer, the divas!"

Rachel groaned and giggled and flung an exasperated look to her friend. "Stop it!"

But Quinn was just getting started. "You'll go on tour for your first post-Broadway solo album, and the headline will read, 'Starring Rachel and Her Luscious Berries.'" Quinn spread her hands out in front of her and tilted her head, eyes gleaming as she admired the imaginary sign.

"Shut up," Rachel shouted through a new fit of laughter.

"You'll never have to worry about using a table ever again because you can just rest your plates on your ginormous ti – "

The word was cut off by a sudden squeal of delighted protest and girlish giggles; having had enough, Rachel leapt on top of Quinn and now, with her knees pinning the blonde at either side, she tickled the girl's stomach with wiggling fingers.

"TALENT!" Quinn screamed between gasps for air and bursts of laughter. "I-I was going t-to say T-TALENT!" She kicked her legs off the ground and squirmed beneath Rachel, whose maniacally grinning face was a mere six inches from her own. She found herself breathless, but no longer from laughter.

"Yeah? Well you have a real _talent_ for taking things too far and getting on my last nerve!" Rachel tickled beneath Quinn's chin for good measure (she knew this was her most sensitive spot), giggled as Quinn guffawed, and then finally, _mercifully_, rolled off the poor girl.

"Rachel Barbra Berry, I am _so_ going to get you back for that!"

Rachel stuck her tongue out and wrapped her arms across her breasts. "'Talent' my butt, Quinn Lucy Fabray! You were going to say a _different_, much _cruder_ T-word, and we both know it."

"What? Like _t_acos? _T_elevision? _T_urnips?" Quinn sat back up and scooted away from her friend's rogue fingers. She could still feel them, and Rachel's lower torso, pressing all over her; her heart hammered, but she figured that was from leftover laughter...Had to be. "Or maybe you meant..._t_ickling? Nope, never mind, that's _your_ evil word now."

Rachel smirked indulgently. "You deserved it."

Quinn tossed her hair over her shoulder and huffed. "Note to self," she mimed talking into an invisible tape recorder. "Rachel Berry does not know how to take a joke."

Rachel rolled her eyes like the drama queen she was and always would be. "I know how to take a joke, but _you_ don't know when enough is enough."

Now it was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes, but hers was paired with a good-humored smirk rather than with theatrics.

"So," Rachel said, leaning back on her hands and fixing Quinn with a quirked eyebrow. "Let's rewind a thousand years, back to the actual _point_ of this conversation."

Quinn couldn't resist. "You mean your future chest melons?" She asked, eyes widening oh-so-innocently.

Despite herself, Rachel chuckled. She just couldn't stay mad or even peeved with Quinn for long; the girl looked too much like an angel, but had the endearing personality of an imp.

It was...it was...it was something, all right. Something new and strange and entirely...intoxicating. _Thrilling_, even.

"No, you pervert," Rachel said, unable _not_ to return Quinn's wide smile. "I'm referring to the topic of kissing."

"Oh, right," Quinn said, top teeth sinking into the corner of her lower lip. Her eyes fell on Rachel's light red mouth; Quinn's throat felt a bit dry, and her heart gave an abrupt lurch forward. "Kissing."

She jumped her gaze back to Rachel's sparkling brown eyes to knock herself out of it. But, weird enough, now that she was taking in the entirety of Rachel's sunny disposition and not just her lips, Quinn's stomach was turning even _more_ into warm oatmeal.

"What was your first kiss like?" Rachel asked.

She tried to sound and look only mildly interested, but the truth was, her mind was reeling. For some reason, the idea of some guy – of _any_ guy, really – with his hands touching Quinn and his lips on hers, and with his tongue probing her mouth, and Quinn shivering beneath his heat and running her hands in his hair – _ugh, _for some reason, that vivid thought made Rachel's stomach twist around something ugly and heavy.

Quinn lifted her eyebrows. "What makes you assume I've been kissed?"

Rachel scoffed and made a show of rolling her eyes, but her heart felt lighter. Maybe Quinn was a fellow lip-virgin... The thought gave her more relief than it should have.

"_Please_," she said, sitting up straighter and flicking a hand toward Quinn. "A pretty girl like you? I'm sure you've been kissed a _plethora_ of times. You're probably Miss Make-Out Queen."

Rachel knew she put her foot in her mouth sometimes, and she realized right away that this was an example; she blushed and mentally scolded herself for sounding so bitter and...jealous.

"You're right," Quinn said, shrugging all the way up to her neck and curling up one side of a chagrined smile. "I've made-out more times than I can count."

Rachel's heart clenched; she hung her head to hide her disappointment.

"Yeah," Quinn continued. She blew on her fingernails before buffing them against her shirt. "My pillow thinks I'm a regular Casanova." She winked.

Rachel whipped her head back up, blatant hope written in every feature. Her eyes brightened; her shoulders rolled back. "Wait... You mean..."

"I've never been kissed." Quinn sealed it with a nod.

"But you're so beautiful!" Rachel blurted.

It cannot be determined which of the girls blushed warmer and redder at this, or if Quinn's surprised grin was more adorable than Rachel's lashes blinking rapidly over enlarged eyes.

"Thanks," Quinn said, scooting much closer to Rachel. Close enough to nudge her in the side. "But you're beautiful, too."

Rachel fixed her with a pointed look. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Lie to me. I know I'm not conventionally attractive." Rachel stared down at her hands in her lap; the more she talked, the deeper her fingernails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. "I have a big nose, and my hands are supposedly 'manly,' and my face is too round, and – "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Quinn shook her head back and forth with great vehemence to punctuate each 'whoa.' "Where are you getting all of these crazy thoughts?"

"More than half of the school, for one. The media and society, for another." Sighing, Rachel made her gaze return to Quinn's; she was immediately glad she'd done so, finding solace in the strength and pure concern that shone there.

"You know what I say to that?" Quinn leaned forward, her hand landing on Rachel's bare knee...and staying there. Never in all her life had Rachel been so glad she'd recently shaved... And never had her throat closed up like this, with a big nervous lump.

"What?" It came out as a breathless whisper.

"Fuck 'em."

Rachel gaped at the unexpected cuss word and the simplicity with which it was uttered. Quinn nodded seriously, and Rachel couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" she repeated, but much louder and more incredulous this time.

"Fuck," Quinn drew the words out slowly, as if savoring their taste, "them."

For once in all her sixteen years of babble mouth, Rachel was speechless.

"You don't need their approval," Quinn said. "Not any of them!" She would have thrown both her arms up in emphasis, but she only did one because she wanted to keep her other hand on Rachel's knee. She liked feeling the girl's warm, smooth skin cradled against her palm and along her fingers.

"You are an exotic beauty," Quinn continued, ignoring the safe voice in the back of her head, telling her to shut up already. Warning her not to go too far, not to give away too much of...of _something_.

Not to give away too much of _everything_.

"You have an awesome nose, the biggest and happiest and _prettiest_ smile I've ever seen, nice hands, and thick dark-brown hair, and, and...and you have these little dimples that pop up in your full, rosy cheeks that make me hope you'll never stop smiling..." She trailed off, realizing she was getting carried away.

_Oh, God!_ she thought. _I probably sound like such a freak!_

"Th-thank you, Quinn." Rachel gulped. Her voice came out far airier than she had expected. "Considering you look like the lovechild of Adonis and Aphrodite, that's all very flattering."

Quinn gave an absentminded nod. She was busy at the moment, distracted by the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss Rachel; her half-mast eyes kept jumping from amber-brown to light red, this up and down pattern that was driving Quinn mad debating, _look at her eyes; no, her lips! Her eyes; no, her lips!_

Sensing the shift of mood, Rachel scooted closer, unable to tear herself away from Quinn's eyes. Being an amazing hazel, they often fluctuated between a spectrum of similar shades, but right then, they were the most gorgeous color she had ever seen: vivid green with flecks of molten gold burning around dilated pupils.

Again, Rachel became very aware of Quinn's hand on her knee, and with it, she realized her yearning for more physical contact.

Both girls wanted closer.

Both girls wanted to drink in this moment, absorb it into their very souls.

Both girls wanted to have their first kiss right then and there. With each other.

So, they did.

Heads tilted just enough to the right, bodies leaned in to close that taunting distance, and eyelids fluttered shut like butterfly wings.

Breaths were stolen away by racing hearts, palms turned sweaty, and stomachs simmered with equal parts fear and excitement.

And finally, at long last, two pairs of soft lips brushed together into the sweetest kiss.

Quinn's fingers flexed, digging deeper around Rachel's knee, fingertips grazing the beginning of a toned thigh.

Rachel's hand rose from her lap of its own accord, resting on the side of Quinn's face, giving herself more balance to her lightened head; she pressed her slightly parted mouth further against those perfect lips.

Quinn matched the pressure, allowing the kiss to deepen but still remain chaste, with no dipping tongues. They weren't ready for tongue yet, but this... This felt amazing.

This felt _right_.

This was the kiss that made everything click into place.

They pulled away at the same time to catch their breath and calm their hammering hearts; when mouths parted ways, the most beautiful, gentlest smacking sound emitted.

Their bodies remained curved toward one another, just a few inches between their faces. Foreheads resting together, their eyes blinked open, dazed, as if awakening from a magnificent dream.

Rachel sighed the most contented little sigh, the movement traveling through her whole body, making her feel lighter than air itself.

"Wow," Quinn said. Her already-soft voice was weighted with so much meaning that the word came out barely audible, a whisper of a whisper.

They gazed at each other, lips tingling and hearts soaring and shy smiles stealing up their warm faces far enough to crinkle the edges of their brightened eyes.

"Our first kiss," Rachel whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would break the magic swirling around them, between them, _inside_ of them.

Quinn's smile blew open into a toothy, impish grin; her eyebrows did a playful jump.

"And our second," she said, linking her hands around Rachel's neck and bringing her still-halfway-smiling lips onto the girl's with a renewed hunger and happiness.

Giggling the most giddy and girlish (and muffled) of giggles, Rachel closed her eyes and kissed Quinn back with equal excitement, sure that her swelling heart would burst any second from an overload of joy.

But it never did.

If anything, it kept getting fuller.

* * *

The next morning before school, Rachel skipped down the hallway.

When she saw Quinn standing at her locker, she couldn't help the sunny smile that burst upon her face.

Quinn's back was to her, and it showed off a _lovely_ view; she wore a red blazer over a black shirt that was tucked into a pair of skintight dark-blue skinny jeans that displayed her long legs and that tight, round, _perfect_ butt.

Rachel couldn't stop staring at it as she walked towards her; it was chiseled and feminine and flawless. It was the angelic, baby-cherub sculpture of butts. It was the Michelangelo of butts. It was pure and wholesome and yet sexy and drool-worthy hot, all at once.

How come she had never appreciated Quinn's hotness before? Sure, she'd always noticed the girl's impeccable beauty, but how come she had never noticed how _sexy_ she was before?

When she was a few steps away, Rachel managed to rip her eyes away from Quinn's toned figure. She took in the blonde's hair instead, pulled back into a high, graceful ponytail that fell in a straight, thick, golden line to the back of her neck. It revealed Quinn's pointed, elfin ears that Rachel loved so much.

"Hi," Rachel said, tapping her on the shoulder.

Quinn turned around and, upon seeing the petite brunette, her entire _body_ lit up from the inside-out. "Hi!"

Rachel lit up, too, overflowing with pure, giddy happiness. "You look beautiful."

Quinn blushed and let her brightened eyes sweep Rachel from head-to-toe. They savored everything, from the hot pink headband in her hair to the yellow ballet flats on her feet, and the pink-and-yellow-plaid-print mini-dress worn between.

Rachel often dressed to fit her moods, and if this outfit was any indication, _somebody_ was cheerful this morning.

"So do you," Quinn gushed. "I love it when you wear yellow; it really brings out the golden undertones of your skin."

Rachel beamed. "Thanks!"

Quinn finished up with her locker before walking with Rachel to hers. "So," she said. "About yesterday…"

"Ah, yes," Rachel giggled. "The Broadway of kisses!"

Quinn giggled back at that, blushing again. "Yeah…that's what we need to talk about."

Even though Quinn's tone was breezy, Rachel felt a dark, ugly foreboding feeling twist in her stomach. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"What? No! Of course not." Quinn made a '_psshh_' face and shook her head. "I was just going to tell you that I know you're going away for the summer, and when you get back, I'll already be at my dad's house…" She trailed off again.

Sweet, beautiful relief rang all through Rachel. She hated how she'd let her insecurities get the best of her for even a second. Quinn liked her. No, not just liked her; she _like_-liked her, as was evident by that incredible kiss last night and the way she'd lit up when seeing her.

"Oh, yeah, right," Rachel said, and then broke into babbling, "It will be awful not getting to spend the summer with you, Quinn, but we can call and text and, ooh! We can even write letters to each other!"

Quinn smiled to herself. "_Mmm_, I like the sound of that." She nudged Rachel in the ribs and, in a deft ninja-Rachel move, the brunette took the opportunity to slip her elbow through Quinn's as it was leaving and pull herself into her side.

Quinn looked down at Rachel and they exchanged a quick, secret grin before looking back to the people milling around them. "The thing is," Quinn continued, "I would love for us to explore our relationship when I get back. That is, if you want to?"

Rachel snorted. "Are you kidding me?! If I _want_ to? How about a resounding '_yes_' to that question?"

Quinn chuckled. "All right then! But also, um, and this is important to me…" She dropped her voice into a whisper, leaning toward Rachel's ear. Her warm breath tickled Rachel's neck; it was glorious.

"Would you please not tell anybody about the kiss? Or about us, like, _at all?_"

Rachel's brow furrowed.

It's not like she _wanted_ to jump to conclusions and think that Quinn's request came from being ashamed of being seen as a couple with her.

But just because she didn't want to, it didn't mean she wasn't _going to_. Along with diva storm-outs and belting solos, jumping to conclusions was second nature to Rachel.

"Are you ashamed of me?" she blurted.

Quinn's lips parted. Using their linked arms, she tugged Rachel to a stop over by a secluded bank of lockers. "No, I am anything _but_ ashamed of you, I promise," she insisted, casting emphatic eyes into wounded ones. She watched as Rachel's began to fill with hope, watched as she cocked her head, beckoning her to continue.

"Look," Quinn whispered, looking left and right to make sure no one was in earshot. "The thing is, you know that I come from a highly-conservative Christian family. And just because I don't think that homosexuality is a sin, that doesn't mean my family will be all gung-ho with it. So, please, let's just keep our relationship between me and you. I'm not ready for anyone else to find out yet. I actually don't want to come out until college." She chewed on her lower lip, her gaze locked steady with Rachel's.

Rachel offered a small but understanding smile, paranoia gone. "It's okay, Quinn. I get it. Of course I'm not going to pressure you to come out of the closet, even though I would be fine with coming out. We'll wait until you're ready."

Relief broke over Quinn's face. "Really?"

"Of course."

When Rachel pressed a comforting hand to her arm, Quinn wanted to kiss her. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders, yank their torsos together, and press her lips all over hers. She wanted to kiss her until the bell rang, until the school day ended, until tomorrow arrived.

But instead, she settled on tightening her elbow around Rachel's. It wasn't as much as she wanted, but it had to be enough for now, in public.

As they resumed their trek to her locker, Rachel said, "But you should know that I did tell my dads about us. It's not like they'll tell anyone though."

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, that's totally fine. I'm glad we won't have to lie about the extent of our relationship to at least _one_ set of our parents."

"I'm going to miss you over the summer," Rachel said, rather abruptly.

Quinn smiled and nuzzled closer to her. "I'll miss you, too, Dimples."

Rachel stopped again, whirled toward her. "Dimples?" Her eyes lit up and grin jumped high, exposing the very namesake upon her cheeks.

Quinn smiled with ample affection and lifted a finger to poke at one. "Yeah. I love them."

"I…I've never had a nickname before," Rachel flushed head-to-toe with pleasure, staring down at her shoes. "Not one like that."

"Do you like it?" Quinn asked, drawing away her finger and resisting the urge to replace it with her lips.

"I _love_ it!" Rachel swung delighted, bashful eyes back up to her.

"Stop doing that," Quinn giggled.

"Doing what?"

"Being so damn adorable; you're making it _really_ hard for me not to kiss you right now."

Rachel was so happy, she felt like she could cry; Quinn felt the same way, and together, grinning their ears off, they resumed their trek to her locker.

When they reached their destination and Rachel began to spin the code into her glittery pink combination lock, she spoke again. "God, I really am going to miss you. I can't believe we're both going to be gone for the summer, and not even at the same time."

"We'll keep in touch," Quinn insisted, "just like you said." Bending down, she placed her hand on Rachel's shoulder.

In a sultry tone that left no room for misunderstanding, she whispered into her ear, "And don't forget, there's an entire week before you leave for New York. How about I come over after school today and tomorrow, and we can start making up for lost time?"

Rachel's fingers halted mid-spin. Her eyes widened; she licked her lips.

And suddenly, she couldn't wait until the last bell rang.


	5. Present - 3

MERRY CHRISTMAS! :D I hope you guys are having wonderful holidays, if you celebrate any. I wish blessings for all the cheers and good tidings to you!

Thank you for the support so far! :) It's much appreciated. Let's hope this is more of a present and not a lump of coal... ;) (Haha, I'm hilarious, haha.)

Happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**_Present Day – Friday, The Night Before The Interview_**

Rachel was impressed with herself.

She'd managed to get through the following day's rehearsals as a true professional, honing all of her mental strife and nerves into raw emotion for her performance. Fletcher kept raving about how "on" she was, about how she never once broke character.

Still, it had been exhausting to be so dedicated to the role; when the cast announced they were all going out for dinner together, she had to decline.

Now, she stood alone in her private bedroom of her and Jesse's apartment. The girlishness of the pale pink walls of her room, the Broadway posters, and the many framed pictures of her and her dads were usually all she needed to find strength and solace.

But right now, she felt nothing but wound up like a spring, marching back and forth across her room with her shoulders squared and her arms swinging at her sides.

Last night, she had been numb and shocked with the news about Quinn Fabray.

Right now, that numb and shock had melted away, replaced with frenzied, unbridled energy.

After rehearsal, Rebecca had come up to her to remind Rachel of the interview. She'd said that Quinn had called to confirm that it was still scheduled for this Saturday (as in, _tomorrow_) at ten o'clock in the morning, to be held in a private suite of a hotel, which would be paid for by the magazine.

It was ten p.m. right now, which meant there were only twelve hours left until Rachel would be reunited with Quinn for the first time in three years.

She just prayed to God it wouldn't be anything like last time.

Her eyes closed against a full-body cringe, a blush searing her flesh as she thought back to _that _particular catastrophe. There was no way she wanted a repeat or even a semblance of that, ever again.

Time passed by, excruciatingly slow one moment and then too-fast the next, like it couldn't make up its damn mine.

It reached half past midnight, and Rachel still hadn't gone to bed.

Instead, she was zipping around and tidying up every little thing in sight: dusting, sweeping, fluffing the loveseat's cushions and the decorative pillows, making sure that the pictures of her and Jesse's families were aligned perfectly on the walls right down to the last degree.

"Um, Rach? What are you doing?"

Jumping at least a foot in the air, she spun around from the lampshade she was cleaning to face Jesse; instinctively, she brandished her feather duster like a sword, shoulders bunched up to her ears and eyes blown big enough to see the whites all around.

"OhmyGod, Jesse!" she snapped, posture sagging as a hand flew over her pounding heart. She blinked a few times, shaking her head. "You scared me half to death!"

"And your means of protection against an attacker is to _dust_ him to death?" He cocked a perfect dark eyebrow, tightened lips quirking with a sarcastic pity. "Unfortunately for you, I'm the sparkling poster boy for cleanliness." He flashed his straight pearly-whites in a cheeky grin, tilting his head and widening his eyes until he looked like a mannequin.

And despite herself, Rachel giggled, top front teeth nibbling down on her bottom lip to conceal a reluctant but wide grin.

Jesse dropped his comical act and fell into a normal state as he approached her. "There's that smile," he said, capturing the tip of her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Gently, he tipped her head back, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Hey," he said, tone soft as the tenderness within his light blue eyes. "You're going to be fine. No, you're going to be _spectacular_. You're going to waltz on in there with your killer legs and Barbra-worthy spunk, and you're going to make Quinn Fabray rue the day she was stupid enough to leave you."

Rachel nodded more times than necessary, fake-smile in place as she tried to ignore her aching stomach.

Jesse frowned and opened his mouth to say some more reassuring and encouraging things. But before he could get a word out, Rachel surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and yanking him against her in a smothering hug.

He blurted a little "oh!" before slipping his arms around her tiny middle and hugging her back. After half a minute of their embrace, he said, "I'm going to make you some tea."

As they pulled away, he pressed the sweetest of kisses to her forehead. Rachel watched him walk into the kitchen, trying her hardest not to think about less than ten hours from now, when she would have to see Quinn again.

But trying not to think about Quinn was about as easy as trying not to notice a gigantic rainbow elephant doing the disco right in front of her face.

* * *

After seemingly endless hours of tossing and turning in bed like a fish out of water, Quinn gave up the fight and accepted that she wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon.

It appeared she would be getting as restless a night's sleep as the one before, where Rachel's face had plagued her mind well into the morning.

It was really happening. She was really going to be with her tomorrow morning – there was no going back now.

_Ugh_, even the calming patter of steady rainfall outside her window couldn't entice her into a slumber.

So, she turned on her bedroom light and tried to read one of her favorite books, which proved impossible when she couldn't even get past the first line without her mind wandering. After about a dozen attempts, she tossed her novel to the other side of the bed, emitting an aggravated sigh that roared up from deep inside her body.

After ten minutes of trying to watch TV in the living room, she gave up on that and returned to her bedroom. Feeling suddenly cold, she threw on her Columbia University sweatshirt before grabbing her sleek silver laptop from her desk and propping herself up against her pillows on her bed.

She stretched out her legs and set her laptop atop them, nimble fingers logging into Skype. She needed to talk to the one person besides her mom who could help her right now. The person who understood Quinn's complicated past. It had taken a while, but hell, she got it almost better than anyone. Sometimes even better than Quinn herself.

Thankfully, she was online. _Perfect_.

Sending out a video chat invitation, Quinn's heart thudded and palms sweated with anticipation.

After three long rings, the screen faded from black and came to life with the web-cam footage of that familiar, friendly face Quinn yearned for so desperately.

"Q! What in the name of God's green earth are you calling me for at one-thirty in the fucking morning?"

Okay, so maybe not a _friendly_ face, but the familiarity of it all made Quinn smile in bittersweet nostalgia. "It's nice to see you, too, Santana."

Santana Lopez rolled her eyes in her signature style. She practically had that annoyed-as-hell, 'you're wasting my time with your stupidity' expression trademarked in her name.

But considering her long black hair was worn back in a messy chignon, and she was wearing the glasses that only her family and closest friends were allowed to see her in once the contacts came off at night, she couldn't have looked any less threatening. In fact, with her roomy Ohio State sweatshirt's sleeves reaching just past her wrists, she looked downright cuddly.

"Please tell me you're not trying to hit me up for a booty call," Santana said. "If you showed your tits and ass to my computer, the hard drive would mistake it for some sort of unsightly virus, and then the whole thing would crash on me."

Quinn smirked in amusement. "Trust me, San," she said, giving it right back to her, "if I wanted a booty call, it would be to somebody who doesn't have horns coming out of their head and a long scaly tail."

"Hey now," Santana said, allowing an appreciative smile at Quinn's comeback. "You know I'm insecure about how _horny_ I am." Dark eyebrows waggled as she chuckled at her own joke.

Quinn snickered back, rolling her eyes, but she must not have been as convincing with the easy-going façade as she thought.

Santana quirked her head to the side. "Seriously, though," she said, concern softening her features. "What's up?"

"Can't a girl call her friend at one-thirty in the morning without any suspicion or worry?" Quinn asked, tone and face shining with ample amounts of angelic innocence.

"Nope," Santana said. "Not you. You're not just 'a girl.' You're _my _girl. So, spill."

Quinn sighed; she didn't know if it was from being relieved that Santana saw right through her, or if she was expelling the nervous tension building within her. Either way, it felt good, as if she were ridding herself of some of the stress gathered across her chest like a cinderblock, crushing down onto her lungs each time she breathed.

She decided to cut straight to the chase. "I'm seeing Rachel again," she said, biting down on her lip, "tomorrow morning."

Santana drew back in her seat, eyebrows shooting skyward and mouth dropping open. "You're shitting me," she said, adjusting her eyeglasses as if they had been knocked askew by the announcement.

Quinn released a surprised laugh at Santana's blunt language. But her amusement was gone in a flash, replaced by raw nerves and a cold tinge of fear. "I'm afraid not," she said, chewing harder on her lip.

Santana shook her shoulders out, as if needing to physically rid herself of the shock. "Whoa! Okay, well, _why_ are you seeing her again? Did you arrange this meeting? Q, oh my God, are you trying to get back together with her?" Her eyes widened, magnified to cartoonish portions behind the glare of the glasses. She did a little bounce in her seat, trying – and failing – to fight back an excited grin.

"No!" Quinn snapped, louder and harsher than she'd meant. "It's entirely work-related; I'm interviewing her."

Santana made a face, brow and nose scrunched and mouth twisted. "What? Why?"

"Because my boss wanted me to?" Quinn's tone dripped with '_duh_.'

Santana rolled her eyes and huffed, an impatient hand flicking through the air. "So? That doesn't mean you had to take it. Like, if you're not going to get back together with her, then why would you even put you and her through all that shit and misery by seeing her again? Didn't you burn all your bridges last time?"

Quinn felt sicker and sicker to her stomach the more Santana spoke. She hid her hands in her lap, out of her laptop camera's sight, and fiddled with her fingers, nails ripping into cuticles.

"Gee, thanks for your incredible vote of confidence," she scoffed, shooting the girl a glare.

Santana shrugged, but remorse rose within her brown eyes, detectable even behind her glasses. "Just tellin' it like it is. You know I'm right."

Quinn sighed, but this time, it was much heavier, seeming to add to the cinderblock's weight rather than diminish it. "Am I the biggest fucking idiot in the entire world?" she dropped her head into trembling hands.

"No!" Santana said with equal parts sympathy and ferocity. "Honey, _no_; you're not an idiot, okay? Look at me, Q." She waved her hand in front of her web-cam, as if that would get Quinn's attention. "Hey, Q, _look at me, _okay?"

Slowly, Quinn obliged, peeling clammy palms away from her face and pouting back at Santana.

Oh, God. She looked so pathetic. So very, very, adorably pathetic, like a sad little puppy dog. Santana's heart ripped open at the sight, wanting nothing more than to hug away her friend's worries. She fixed Quinn with her most encouraging expression, hoping she would draw strength and confidence from it.

"Repeat after me," she said. "Everything's going to be fine."

Quinn made a whining noise that, had anyone else uttered it, would have made Santana annoyed. But from her Q, it was as cute as it was heartbreaking.

Santana huffed and lowered her brow in a warning. "Come on; repeat after me. Everything's going to be fine."

Quinn took a deep, audible breath. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I will not freak-out," said Santana.

"I will not freak-out," echoed Quinn.

"I am strong, awesome, and totally hot, and that's all that matters."

Quinn snickered the slightest bit, rolled her eyes, but felt at least ten percent better after repeating: "I am strong, awesome, and totally hot, and that's all that matters."

"See!" Santana clapped her hands together. "Everything's going to work out, aight, blondie? Now, can a girl get her beauty sleep, please?"

A burst of panic flared through Quinn. "You're leaving me already?"

Santana stole a quick look over her shoulder at something. When her gaze returned to Quinn's, she had the decency to wear an apologetic frown. "Look," she said, "there's something I actually have been wanting to tell you for a wh – "

"Sannie? What's taking you so long? When can we start the movie?"

Santana whipped around, shifting enough out of the web-cam's view to allow Quinn to see past the girl's shoulder and straight to her adjacent bedroom door, where another girl stood. A girl with long, straight blonde hair worn down, an orange tank top, black satin pajama pants, and zebra-print slippers.

"Hey, Britt!" Quinn called, giving a little wave.

Brittany Pierce hurried into the room, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. A smile spread up her face as her cupped hands gave an excited jump to her chin. "Oh! Is that Quinn?" She bounded up right next to Santana and slid her arm around her girlfriend's shoulders; Santana slipped her own arm around Brittany's waist, drawing her into her side and smiling at her like she hung the moon.

"Hi, Quinn!" Brittany chirped, blowing a little kiss and firing off a wink. "How've you been?" She giggled with delight and turned brightened eyes to Santana. "Oh my God, that _rhymed!_"

Santana chuckled, shook her head, and pulled enraptured eyes away from Brittany, directing them to Quinn's amused grin instead.

For her part, Quinn felt as if at least half of the cinderblock at been flat-out obliterated by Brittany's presence; her sparkling happiness, innocent spunk, and overall love for life was the mighty mallet Quinn needed to smash away some of the tension that had been plaguing her all day.

"So, you give me flack for bothering you at one-thirty in the morning, when all along you were planning on staying up to watch a movie with Brittles?" Quinn arched one eyebrow at Santana and smirked at her guilty, caught-red-handed face.

"Sannie!" Brittany said, smiling at her girlfriend in a sweetly scolding way. "You know that we can always make time for Quinn."

"Yeah," Quinn's smirk lengthened, rounding into her dainty cheekbones, "You can _always_ make time for Quinn."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she grumbled, at a loss for a proper comeback seeing as how Brittany was now running her fingers across the little hairs on the back of her neck.

"So, what's been up with you?" Brittany asked, cocking her head at the web-cam.

Quinn launched into a quick explanation of having to reunite with Rachel tomorrow.

Brittany frowned and twisted a lock of long hair around her forefinger. "Aw, I'm sorry, Quinn. I know you must be super-mega-monster nervous right now. But, you know, you should think of this as a good thing!" She bubbled up, posture straightening and smile returning.

"How so?"

"Well, like, I always thought you and Rachel were _perfect_ for each other, like God or Santa Claus made you for her and her for you. Just like me and Santana. So, you know, now you can maybe get back together with her and have your happy ending after all!"

Quinn's heart didn't just break at those words; it exploded, bursting pain all through her chest, seeping an aching, burning tightness into the pit of her stomach, consuming her whole. Physically stricken by the blow of those words, Quinn felt the blood drain from her face, her hands wring together, and her widened eyes sting from bugging so far out.

Brittany was wrong.

She and Rachel weren't made for each other, and they certainly weren't made for any 'happy ending.'

Quinn had figured this out three years ago, and being reminded of it now, in the wake of having to deal with her, the ex-love-of-her-life, was proving too much to bear.

Santana noticed Quinn's reaction right away; cussing under her breath, she tugged on Brittany's arm and tossed her a meaningful look. "Honey," she said, "go make some popcorn, okay? I don't think Quinn's ready for your level of optimism just yet."

Brittany nodded, an understanding sorrow seeping into her eyes and flipping her smile over yet again. "I'm sorry, Quinnie the Pooh," she said, blowing her a final kiss before hurrying out of the room.

Quinn watched her go, wanting to tell her that she had nothing to be sorry for, but finding that hard to do now that the cinderblock had returned with a vengeance and was set on collapsing her lungs once and for all.

Santana instructed Quinn on how to properly breathe for a good minute or so until finally Quinn was out of Panic Attack territory. God, she was falling apart! It was embarrassing.

"Think about this," Santana said, the light bulb of an epiphany flickering on behind her eyes. She leaned forward, adjusted her glasses, and licked her lips. "Like, seriously, I think I have the perfect mindset to help you get through tomorrow. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Quinn muttered.

"It's just one day," Santana said, nodding at her own wisdom. "Seriously, Q, that's it: it's just one fucking _day_, not even that, but just a few _hours_. That's it! That's all the time you have to deal with this, and then it's over, and you'll have your first real reporting job done with _and_ you could even have gotten through some nice closure with your ex-girlfriend. It's ideal, actually, when you think about it. Just _enjoy_ it, 'cause you only have to grin-and-bear-it for one. Fucking. _Day_."

And just like that, the cinderblock vanished. _Poof_. Gone.

Quinn could finally _breathe_ again.

Because Santana was right. She was so _right_, about all of it!

Sweet relief poured through her as a breathless giggle left her grinning mouth. "Just one day."

"Just one day," Santana said. "Not even that; just a few hours."

Quinn took a deep breath, cherishing the sweet sensation in her lungs. "Thanks, San," she said, missing her friend more than ever. Too bad she and Brittany lived back in Ohio in an apartment together; she hated that she only got to see them in person on holidays or birthdays. "I mean it; you helped _a lot_."

"Anytime, Q. You were there for me in high school when I needed someone, so, ya know, just returning the favor." She shrugged one shoulder.

Quinn opened her mouth to say goodnight, but Santana spoke first. "There's actually something that I need to tell you right now."

"Yeah; go for it!"

"Okay…" Santana rubbed the side of her nose, cheeks coloring a single brushstroke of pink. "Well, um…"

"What is it?"

Santana checked over her shoulder; seeing that the door was closed without her girlfriend in sight, she angled back around and said: "I'm going to propose."

"Oh my God! To Brittany?"

"No, to the mailman," Santana deadpanned, before rolling her eyes and crossing her arms with a loud scoff. "_Yes_, to Brittany! Do you see any other perfect, gorgeous, lovable girls living in our apartment?"

Quinn's heart swelled and stomach warmed as a beam stole across her face. "Wow! I am really, _really _happy for you, Santana! It's about damn time, to be honest." She giggled at the giddy smile that Santana couldn't fight away from her blushing cheeks.

"When?" Quinn asked, doing a little dance against her pillows, all thoughts of Rachel temporarily and mercifully driven from her mind.

"I'm thinking about doing it this upcoming week, actually, when we're in New York."

"Oh my God; that's awesome! Why are you going to be in New York?"

Santana scratched behind her ear and averted eye-contact from the web-cam. "Rachel invited us to see her Broadway debut."

… And all thoughts of Rachel rammed right back into Quinn's mind, making the grin on her face feel just the slightest bit heavier.

"Oh…okay!" She forced peppiness back into her tone. "That will be fun for you guys."

"Yeah," Santana smiled gently. "It will be. Look, I gotta go; I'm sorry, but I can't keep my future _fiancée _waiting for me forever to start the movie."

"No, it's okay; I understand. And I really do need to get some sleep anyway."

"Call me tomorrow to let me know how things turn out?"

"Sure…"

"Oh, don't worry, Quinn! Things will turn out _fine_, okay? I promise. Remember, it's just a few hours. Repeat that like a mantra until it gets stuck in your head like an annoying pop song: 'it's just a few hours, it's just a few hours.'"

"Will do." Quinn mock-saluted and winked.

Santana chuckled. "That's more like it! You go get 'em, HBIC Fabray!"

Laughing, Quinn tossed out an affectionate "goodnight, soon-to-be _engaged_ friend of mine" before signing off Skype and shutting down her laptop altogether.

As she put away her computer, switched off the light, and climbed under her covers, the warm thrill of Santana's announcement began to peter out as cold nerves snuck back into her system. She really was excited for Santana and Brittany, because God knew they deserved true happiness after all they'd went through to get to where they were today… But she was also kind of… Well, kind of jealous.

Where was _her _happy ending?

Had you asked her just five or six years ago what her future held, Quinn wouldn't have hesitated; she would have pointed to the petite brunette always at her side. She would have said "wedding" and "Rachel" and "successful reporter-slash-photographer alongside my Broadway babe of a wife."

Back then, her happy ending had been inevitable, set in stone with a special glaze over it to keep out any dust or weathering.

But now that stone had broken. It had crumbled into bits and pieces, scattered across the floor, a jigsaw puzzle of the unknown.

What would become of her? _Would _she ever be really, truly happy?

Quinn was happy now. It was true; in her life, she was… Well, she was at least _content_. Satisfied. Because she had her dream job and her big break coming up right around the corner.

Because she had two best friends who were always there for her and about to be engaged soon (she expected maid of honor status to at least one of them).

Because she had some other good friends, too, coworkers and those few she'd kept in touch with after high school and college.

And because she had a wonderful mother who she knew she could always turn to, for anything and everything.

That was all good enough for her. It _had_ to be good enough for her. Frankly, it seemed too late to wish for love and marriage amongst all the other stuff. She'd had her chance for love, marriage, a storybook romance, but it had all turned out to be a ruse. It had all turned out to be too much for her to handle.

She'd made her choice, and she dealt with it every day of her life, whether consciously or not.

Quinn flopped around in bed for another hour, unable to close off the battlefield of thoughts warring in her head.

Finally she fell asleep, the rain falling in heavy rhythm outside, lightning flashing and thunder booming.

However, though sleep provided her body rest, it did not appease her mind.

She dreamt of Rachel, fifteen years old and dressed head-to-toe in bright, bubblegum pink: pink dress, pink socks, pink shoes, the pinkest of lipstick – even some pink streaks in her high pigtails. Quinn, however, was current age in the dream, and wearing a dark black gown with long black satin gloves and black netting atop her pale hair.

Wherever Quinn went, Rachel followed; to the store, to her bedroom, to the top of the Statue of Liberty, where Quinn swung from spike-to-spike of the giant green lady's crown, Rachel following close behind.

When they were back on flat ground, Quinn ran away from Rachel, which only made Rachel chase after her in a sprint. Quinn was consumed with a horrible blend of frustration and terror; neither of them said a word as they played this tiresome game of cat-and-mouse, but all Quinn wanted to do was scream out her building tension.

They reached a field of sunflowers, stretching all around them, thick and enormous green stalks that sprouted happy brown buds and yellow petals all the way up to the puffy clouds of the blazing blue sky.

Quinn stopped running and spun around, coming face-to-face with Rachel. Rachel wore a blank expression, but when her eyes met Quinn's, the shorter girl broke into her signature, brighter-than-the-sun grin.

And every thought and emotion swooshed out of Quinn but this: She wanted to kiss her.

That's all she wanted to do; she wanted to kiss this annoying girl, this pink munchkin who kept following her around as if her life depended on it.

Quinn seized her arms around Rachel's waist, yanking the girl's torso flush against hers. Just as she dropped hungry lips onto the bright pink ones before her, Rachel disintegrated into a column of billowing gray smoke.

She was left hugging nothing but acrid air that stung her eyes as she searched all around for Rachel.

But she was nowhere to be found. Just like that, she was gone for good.

Quinn jolted awake to the blaring of her alarm clock…and to cold tears soaking her face and dripping down her pillow.

* * *

Though delicious, Jesse's relaxing tea did not do a suitable job in soothing Rachel's jitters.

She perched on the end of her bed, her hands gripped around her mug's hot ceramic middle.

She'd tried meditation, praying to God, a brief but vigorous work-out on her elliptical, and a nice hot bubble bath, but nothing had managed to break through her hyperactive thoughts.

Outside, a boom of thunder clapped, followed by the sound of more relentless rain. The dark weather matched her mood quite nicely.

A knock sounded from her door, which was opened just a sliver.

"Yes?" Rachel said.

The door swung open; Jesse entered.

One look at her and his eyes lit up. Rachel loved it when he looked at her like that; it made her feel loved and protected in a way she had craved her whole life – the brother she never knew she wanted but had always apparently _needed_.

"Look at you!" Jesse grinned, eyes soft. "You're like a fluffy little marshmallow of adorable." He strode over to her, admiring how she was swathed from shoulders to ankles in a lamb-soft robe of palest pink.

She giggled, his attention warming her up more than a steaming mug of tea ever could. "Thanks. You look pretty snazzy yourself."

Jesse sat down right beside her, the thigh of his navy blue Calvin Kline boxer shorts pressing against the cloudlike material of her robe. The boxers paired with a simple white T-shirt were all he wore, his general nighttime attire.

"Thanks." He nudged his shoulder against hers. "We can be snazzy together. Big upcoming Broadway stars and all. Throw us together and you've got yourself a human constellation."

Rachel smiled at that, heart fluttering. "It's crazy to think about. I've spent all my life _dreaming_ for the moment where I make my Broadway debut, and now it's almost here!"

"Just a week away." Jesse rubbed his hands together as an excited gleam popped into his eyes.

Rachel sighed a light, happy sigh; she dropped her head onto Jesse's shoulder and settled against him.

After a few minutes of contented silence, she spoke.

"It's starting to get dangerously past my bedtime," she said, tone soft as the material of her robe. "I'm worried I won't be able to fall asleep at all, and then I'll look like a zombie tomorrow."

Jesse frowned, rolling his head so his cheek rested atop hers. "Do you want to take a sleeping pill?"

"Oh, no; of course not. I'm afraid it would work _too_ well and make me groggy tomorrow."

"You want to be lucid," Jesse said, "alert for Quinn. This is important to you." The matter-of-factness behind Jesse's voice gave Rachel a strange swoop in her stomach.

When he put it as plainly as that, it made everything seem so…simple. But what she and Quinn had was eons away from 'simple.' They used to be simple; they used to be light as air, drifting along together on a happy, oblivious breeze of life. Rachel lived for theatre and dramatics, sure, but when it came to her love life, she missed simple.

Then again, she and Quinn were broken up, had been for a long time now, and that was about as simple as it could get, right?

"Yeah," she said, not moving her head but rather letting her eyeballs do all the traveling for her as she looked up at him.

"It's going to be okay, Rachel. _You're_ going to be okay. You need to believe that."

Jesse's strong arm roped around her waist until his hand splayed long fingers across her flat stomach. Rachel snuggled further into him, a safe cocoon of her robe's softness and Jesse's exuding warmth.

"Sometimes it's hard to have faith," she said. "Quinn's always been my weak spot, my Achilles heel – well, more like my Achilles _heart_."

"But it's been three years since you've seen her; I'm sure you don't feel that way anymore, right?"

Rachel stared down at her lap. "Yeah, of course. Three years is plenty of time to get over someone. But she was almost all of high school for me, Jesse. And my first year of college. That's four years of my life –arguably some of the most important ones, while I was coming of age – that Quinn was part of, you know?"

"I know," Jesse said, ruffling her hair before kissing the top of it in a sweet peck. "But you're stronger than you think. And I'm sure when you see her again, you'll realize just how much you can get over someone in three years."

"Thanks, Jesse." Rachel said. "I'm really tired, and I think I just want to be alone now."

"Totally understandable." Jesse jumped to his feet and let his dancer's legs carry him over to her door. "But if you need me, I'll be in my room."

Rachel nodded.

"Goodnight, my star," he said.

"Goodnight, my moon." Her lips curled in a weak attempt at a smile as her fingers limped out a half-hearted wave. She didn't want him to leave right now; she needed him with her. She needed him to hold her and soothe her and keep telling her that everything was going to be okay. But, more than that, she needed to be strong. So, he _had_ to go now. Still, her heart ached with sudden loneliness as he closed the door behind him.

She took a deep breath. _Be a big girl, _she scolded herself. Jesse was right; she _was_ strong. She would not just get through this ordeal; she would conquer it with a Bedazzled victory flag waving in the wind – because she was _Rachel_ freaking _Berry_ for Barbra's sake!

Instead of heading for bed, she decided it would be fun to torture herself some more, and allowed herself to go to her closet instead. There, she retrieved a dust-coated shoebox from its spot pushed back against the wall, up on the top shelf.

She brought it over to her bed and set it down. And then she just stared at it, taking deep meditation breaths.

It was just a box. She could handle a box. Boxes were…boxy. Yeah, they were boxy and they could hold nice, pretty shoes and they were _simple_.

But inside the box? There was nothing simple about it. The insides were nuclear territory. They were memories, they were tales of past love, and they were pain personified.

Why was she doing this again? Oh, right, because torturing herself was fun. …Yay!

"Just open it already!" she snapped, because yelling at one's self was definitely what all sane people did.

With a final inhale to fill her lungs, she batted away the lid from the box like a cat whacking a ball of yarn. The lid fell onto the bed, right beside the box, letting its insides beam up at her like a spotlight.

Good thing she had taken that breath – it flew right back out of her in a loud exhale. A shiver traced down her spine as she leaned into the box, holding her breath again as if the items within were contaminated.

As she took in the contents, tears filled her eyes and her chin quivered. She was looking at all she had left of her and Quinn's relationship. Of all she had left of _Quinn_, period. Small enough to fit in a size-seven shoebox.

There were a few photographs of the girls together in various landmark occasions; they looked so _happy_, so blatantly _happy_. Rachel couldn't remember the last time she had smiled like that, the last time her eyes had been that bright.

There was a silver ring with an inscription inside: _Forever and Always Yours_. It should have read, 'Forever and Always Yours Until I Don't Want You Anymore.'

Bitterly, Rachel turned away from the ring, taking in a small stuffed animal of a red ladybug. _Her little Shutterbug._

"Hi, Lady Shutter," she said, smiling as she stroked a gentle, reverent fingertip to the iridescent material of the wings.

Last, her tear-pooled eyes landed on a silver locket on a silver chain. This sent the tears spilling down her cheeks; smiling, she plucked the necklace out of the musky box with her greedy fingers. She stared at its somehow-still-shiny, heart-shaped pendant with the single, real white diamond set into its top corner.

She opened the locket and gave a whimper of half-cry and half-laugh at what she saw; a small, heart-shaped picture of her and Quinn: Rachel wore her old, then-favorite dark blue dress, while Quinn sported a marigold-colored babydoll dress that brought out the shining golden tint of her blonde hair.

They were huddled in close, sides of their heads angled together and touching, eyes bright and excited and grins stretched wide to show off every one of their white teeth. And, of course, there were all the different flowers that Rachel and Quinn held up between them, like botanical trophies.

Rachel snapped the locket closed and pressed it right against her throbbing heart. Her eyes closed against the sudden pain of intense, white-hot nostalgia that zapped through her.

This was why she never opened the shoebox and explored what it held; its contents were even more dangerous than Pandora.

She tucked the box back away in her closet, all of its items accounted for…

Besides the ladybug stuffed animal she kept nestled within the crook of her elbow.

She settled into bed and fell asleep sooner than she expected, a deep, dreamless realm claiming her exhausted mind just a few minutes after head met pillow.

When her alarm sounded bright and early about seven hours later, she woke up with Lady Shutter still hugged tight to her chest. And she found herself not sure which she was dreading more in a few hours more:

Having to say hello to Quinn again.

Or having to say goodbye.


	6. Past - 3

**Chapter Six**

_**August & September 2010 - 11th Grade**_

**-AUGUST-**

Dimples: **EEK! xD You're almost home?! Text me when you get there so I can head on over! XOXO.**

Quinn's face split open with a giant grin. Giggling, her eager fingers typed back: **Yeah, I should be there in 5 minutes. :) I can't wait to see your smiling face, Beautiful. It's been too long!**

Half a minute later and her phone buzzed again, bringing her another text from Rachel: **Ugh, I know. :( Theatre camp was amazing, as was fabulous New York, but three months without seeing you is a special kind of torture.**

Right after, another message vibrated onto her screen: **And thanks for calling me 'beautiful.' YOU'RE beautiful!**

Quinn licked her lips with excitement, eyes burning brighter than the rays of sunlight shining through the windshield. She released a little squeal of delight, unable to help herself.

Just five more minutes and they'd be pulling into her driveway.

Just ten or so minutes after that and she would see Rachel again for the first time since the end of _May_.

GAH!

"Well, somebody's all smiley," Russell Fabray, Quinn's father, commented from his spot to her left, situated behind the steering wheel of his truck.

Yanked from her thoughts, Quinn's neck jerked toward him, eyes widening with Bambi-esque innocence when they met the raised brow of her dad. She tried to deflate her smile into something less crazy-happy and more casual, but try as she might, the sky-high corners of her mouth wouldn't stay even a centimeter down before springing back up again.

"I'm just glad to be here with you," she said, throwing in a shrug.

Though his eyes were cast back on the familiar suburban roads of Lima, Quinn could still make out the smirk inching up his profile. He gave a snort. "Yeah, right. It has nothing to do with your phone, or more pressingly, the person you're talking to on said phone."

"Okay, maybe a _little_ bit…"

"Sweet Pea," he huffed. "Can't you pay attention to your old man for just a few more minutes? I'm about to drop you off at your mom's, and then I won't get to see you until Thanksgiving."

Holding back a frustrated sigh, Quinn tossed her phone into her purse. She didn't want to ignore Rachel, but her dad did have a point; she was being rude by not capitalizing on the last moments they'd have together until November.

Then again, that _was_ kind of his fault in the first place, the whole 'only getting to see Quinn around major holidays' thing. When he and Judy had divorced last summer, the judge hadn't exactly ruled in his favor when there'd been indisputable proof that he'd been having an affair with another woman for over a year.

Thus, Judy had hightailed it out of Cleveland, taking her and Quinn three hours away to a little town called Lima. She would have taken Frannie, too, had the girl not been away at Yale for college.

Speak of the devil: Quinn's phone buzzed again, and she discreetly checked it.

Fran: **Hey, Kiddo! I hope you make it home safely. I had so much fun seeing you last week, and I miss you already.**

Quinn smiled and replied: **I miss you more! Thanks for taking me shopping. XOXO!**

Fran: **That's what big sisters are for. xxoo**

Quinn started to reply to Rachel's last text, but Russell cleared his throat authoritatively. Sighing, Quinn tossed her phone back into her bag.

It was funny how, at first, Quinn had _hated_ the idea of leaving behind Cleveland. She'd _hated_ having to adjust to life at a whole new school, in a whole new town, with whole new people.

And now, a little over a year later, she _loved _it – kind of the school, mostly the town, and definitely the people. Well, definitely the _person_, at least; she definitely loved having met that girl named Rachel Barbra Berry.

"You're right," Quinn said, belatedly from his previous comment. "Sorry, Daddy. I'm glad I got to spend the last month with you at least."

They would have spent more than just one month together this summer, but Russell had been traveling for work throughout June… That, and he'd been busy going on date after date with a string of trashy women. Often, Quinn thought of herself as more of an adult than her father; but even with his shady choices sometimes, she still loved and respected him dearly. He was her dad, after all.

"Same here," he said with a smile, flicking on the blinker as he turned into the driveway.

The second the car was set in park, Quinn unbuckled, grabbed her purse, and dove out of the passenger side. She ran to the bed of the truck and tapped her foot as she waited for Russell to hurry up and meet her over there to help get her bags.

She couldn't stop picturing that last text Rachel had sent, telling her she was beautiful. She needed to reply to the girl, like, _yesterday_.

Finally, Russell was beside her, reaching into the bed of the truck and pulling out Quinn's things. He set her duffel bag and rolling suitcase onto the concrete before shouldering the duffel while Quinn took the handle of her sleek black suitcase.

Together, they walked up to the front door, with its cheery 'HOME, SWEET HOME' sign and its prickly 'WIPE YOUR PAWS' welcome mat. Not bothering to knock, Quinn threw the door open and bounded into the house, Russell following behind her after hesitating for a moment.

"MOOOOOMMMM! I'm hoooommmeee!" she sang, neck turning left and right, left and right, as she searched for Judy's warm smile and even warmer arms.

"QUINNIE!" Sure enough, there she was, the shorter blonde woman bursting from the kitchen and into the living room, where she tackled her youngest daughter into a big, Mama Bear hug.

Both girls giggled happily as they embraced; Quinn's suitcase clattered to the floor when she released its handle, and even though it whacked her on the back of her ankle, she didn't care because she was here, she was home, with her mom's arms around her and the scent of fresh-baked cookies wafting through the air.

"Ah-_heemm_."

Mother and daughter broke apart and swiveled to face Russell. He stood with Quinn's blue duffel hanging awkwardly from his arm, and a fake smile hanging awkwardly on his lips.

"Hello, Judy," he said through his teeth.

Judy narrowed her blue-green eyes, keeping one arm around Quinn's slender waist. "Hello, Russell."

He nodded. "The house looks… Well. Would you like for me to give you some money to hire a housekeeper? I hate to think of Quinn living in a place this messy."

"Dad," Quinn huffed, embarrassed.

Judy's arm tightened around Quinn. "The house is _fine_, Russell. Keep your rude comments to yourself?"

"What? I'm only trying to help."

"Mom," Quinn said, ignoring the storm cloud of tension building in the air. "Is it okay if Rachel comes over right now? I haven't seen her all summer, and we really want to catch up before school starts tomorrow."

"I'm not sure, Quinnie…" Judy hedged. "_I_ haven't seen you in a month, remember? I made some cookies for us and everything."

Russell's chuckle came out more as a derisive snort. "Surprise, surprise; Judy says no to something Quinn wants to do."

"Excuse me?" Judy snapped, flipping both arms across her chest. The look she threw him could cut through glass. "_You_ were the one who tried to control every little thing that everyone did back when you actually had the right to be a part of this family. So, don't you dare make stupid, incorrect comments under your breath, Russell; you lost the ability to do that without me defending myself as soon as I caught you cheating with that whore!"

Quinn stared at her shoes, wishing her father would leave already. Her heart felt weighed down by a jagged rock.

Judy placed a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "Honey, go ahead and invite Rachel over," she said in a tone that showed clear defiance toward her ex-husband. "The more the merrier!" she added in a tone that was so falsely, incredibly peppy, it practically came with its own set of pompoms.

Quinn nodded, not needing to be told twice. She ran over to her dad, gave him a quick but squeezing hug, and took all her bags up to her room. Right after she closed the door behind her, she heard yelling drifting up from downstairs, insults flung back and forth like Japanese throwing-stars.

She rolled her eyes, thankful that she and Rachel were _nothing_ like her parents. Growing up around their volatile relationship had taught her how _not_ to act in a relationship, thank you very much. Pretty much, her main rule of thumb was, 'Whatever my parents do, do the opposite.'

She retrieved her cell phone from her purse and saw that she had two new texts from Rachel.

Dimples: **Where'd you disappear to?**

Dimples: **Quuuuuiiiiiiinnnnnn, don't go breaking my heeaaarrrt!**

And just like that, all of Quinn's negativity and annoyance toward her parents disintegrated. She was left filled head-to-toe with happiness as she read the messages, knowing that there was at least _one_ person out there who never made her feel like she wanted to rip all her hair out.

She replied: **"I couldn't if I triiiieeed!" ;) Haha. My parents are downstairs fighting; I feel like I'm flashing back to ninth grade. Anyway, I'm home, so get your cute little butt over here before I go insane having to deal with them by myself!**

Rachie: **Don't worry; I'm on my way! :) XOXO**

Quinn's stomach fluttered at the 'XOXO' at the end.

If she were lucky, when Rachel got here, those kisses and hugs wouldn't just be digital.

* * *

**-SEPTEMBER-**

The following week – the last week of August and the first one of their junior year – flew by.

The girls were thrilled to discover they had five classes together this year, one more than last! They sat beside each other in all of these classes, of course. Thankfully, they also shared the same lunch, so of course they sat together, this time not just the two of them but also a few people from Glee, as well.

There had only been a few Slushies thrown at the members, but it was still early in the year, so that could unfortunately change for the worse.

So far this year, Rachel actually _competed_ for solos; she didn't claim them in that snooty way she had last year. She was still bossy, loud, and boastful, but she _was_ actually trying to be a team player, and that was really saying something for the maturity she'd grown over the summer while away at Tisch's theatre camp.

Now, it was the first Monday in September and the second week of school.

Rachel and Quinn had been dating in secret, holding hands beneath the lunch table and sharing coy smiles when others sang in Glee.

But there was one problem with this whole 'dating' thing: they had yet to go on an actual _date_.

Rachel was a purist when it came to romance, and not 'courting' or 'wooing' her significant other was just _not_ acceptable.

So, since Quinn wasn't dropping hints about going out anytime soon, Rachel decided that it was up to her to initiate the next step of their relationship.

That was why, on Monday after school, right before Glee Club started, Quinn opened her locker and discovered a small envelope perched atop her books.

Eyebrows rising and head quirking to the side, Quinn plucked up the envelope. In fancy cursive, the front read, '_To Quinn_.'

Curiosity piqued even more now, she ran her finger under the sealed flap on the back to tear it open; she pulled out a small, square white cardstock with the same handwriting inked across it.

And as she read its contents, Quinn grinned from ear-to-ear while her heart did a boogey-dance.

'_Quinn Lucy Fabray,_

_Your presence is requested this Saturday, from 7:00 pm until curfew. Details will remain a secret, though it must be noted that the date shall be semi-formal, so be sure to dress nicely. Please get back to me today in the choir room, where by saying 'yes,' you guarantee me to be the happiest girl in all of Ohio._

_Until Then,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry.'_

Rachel's surname was followed by a tiny, glittering gold star sticker that seemed to wink at Quinn playfully.

She read the letter again and again and again, wanting to memorize it, to turn it into a lullaby to recite when she couldn't sleep at night. She brought the note to her nose, closed her eyes, and inhaled its crisp, paper-y scent, because she was off-the-charts happy, which made her do weird things, okay?

An idea struck Quinn as she was sliding the card back into the envelope. Smiling to herself and humming a joyful tune, she grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of notebook paper from her bag and got to work.

* * *

Rachel, who usually sat with perfect posture and her legs crossed at the ankles, was on the edge of her seat – fingers gripping the hard navy-blue plastic, knees tensed as if ready to spring, and body curled forward as her eyes darted around the room.

She really wanted to just stare at the doorway and wait for Quinn to enter, but that would look desperate, so she settled on jumping her gaze from person to person to another freaking _person_ while she waited. But none of these persons were Quinn, and that was starting to wear her impatience down to the last fray.

"Hey, Quinn," she heard Tina say; Rachel's neck snapped to the door, and sure enough, _there _was her blonde, strolling into the room and greeting people with her winsome smile.

That winsome smile landed on her and somehow turned even more charming, brighter and wider, and just _God,_ it literally took Rachel's breath away.

She tried to smile back at Quinn, but smiling was hard to do when you were trying to remember if it was inhale and then exhale, or exhale and then inhale, or….

Quinn joined Rachel at the front of the risers. She took her spot on the girl's left and sat down just as Rachel managed to complete a normal breath through her nose.

Rachel opened her mouth to say something – because her patience could not take even one more second of waiting, and she just _had _to know if Quinn had gotten her note – when Quinn surprised her enough to send her teeth clicking back together.

The blonde opened her hand over Rachel's lap, dropping a folded-up piece of notebook paper atop her mini-skirt.

A smile played against the corner of Rachel's lips as she picked up the paper and slowly, delicately, opened it up, as if ripping into it would make it explode or bite her hand.

When it was opened all the way, Quinn's tidy penmanship stared back at her.

Written large and right on the middle of the page was a single, underlined, _beautiful_ word with big bubbly hearts framing either side.

_YES!_

Rachel's face lit up as she turned to Quinn with hopeful eyes and a joyful mouth. "Yes?" she asked, quiet in tone but loud in meaning.

Quinn smiled with her eyes and nodded.

And Rachel faced forward as Mr. Schue called the meeting to order, unable to think about anything other than what to plan for their first date on Saturday.

* * *

At 6:50 pm on Saturday the eighteenth, Quinn stood in front of her bedroom's full-length mirror.

She'd spent at least two hours after school yesterday planning the perfect first date ensemble, but she'd ended up changing it again a half hour ago. She'd never felt so excited, nervous, confident, and insecure in her life – it was a crazy blend of contradictions, she knew.

Excited because this was her first date with Rachel, the girl of her dreams!

Nervous because _this was her first date with Rachel_, _the girl of her dreams, _and what if Quinn messed everything up?

Confident because she was Quinn Lucy Fabray, for God's sake, beautiful and charming and fun.

Insecure because she was _only_ Quinn Lucy Fabray, whereas Rachel was _Rachel: _Somehow both so gorgeous and so adorable at the same time, so well-spoken, and so off-the-charts talented.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn smoothed her new babydoll dress and smiled at her reflection. The dress was marigold-colored and brought out the shining golden tint of her blonde hair. Said hair was worn half-up, side-bangs brushed back and secured with a sparkly gold clip. The rest of her hair was worn in loose curls just past her shoulders, framing the signature silver-cross necklace draped from her neck.

She did a full twirl in front of the mirror, watching as the knee-length hem of her dress billowed out around her thighs. Giggling, she bounced over to her dresser and snatched up her cell phone. According to the white numbers bolded over a picture of Rachel sticking out her tongue with her eyes closed, it was now almost seven o'clock.

Considering how punctual Rachel was, the girl would be here any minute.

A fresh thrill raced through Quinn's every vein. She rubbed her hands together so fast, she was surprised sparks didn't shoot out of them and catch her carpet on fire.

Her phone _buzzed_ with a new text. She grabbed it again and read the message, each word making the smile stretch farther across her face.

Rachie: **Just pulled up to your house. Your chariot awaits, milady. XOXO**

Quinn fired off a quick reply: **I'll be right out before I turn into a pumpkin. ;)**

She certainly felt like Cinderella on her big night, about to go off to the ball with her dashing prince – er, prin_cess_ – and have all her dreams come true. But unlike ol' Cindy, Quinn wasn't going to lose any glass slippers along the way.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and tossed her cell phone into its depths before jumping in front of the mirror one last time. She smacked her lightly-glossed lips together, fluttered her lashes, and blew herself a kiss. Then, tossing one last 'go get 'em, tiger'-esque wink over her shoulder, she bounded out of her bedroom. She had to keep telling herself to walk normally and not break out into a skip.

_Ding-dong!_

"I'll get it!" Judy called up. "That must be Rachel."

Quinn paused at the top step of the stairs, hand freezing on the polished wooden railing. Her heart thumped like a jack rabbit's foot; she rolled her shoulders back, awaiting her grand entrance.

Meanwhile, standing on the welcome mat of the front porch, Rachel shifted her weight from foot-to-foot. She'd only rung the doorbell about ten seconds ago, but it might as well have been ten minutes.

To say she couldn't wait to see Quinn was as much of an understatement as saying Rachel thought her idol, Barbra Streisand, was only _pretty_ talented.

The door popped open, and there stood none other thaaaaan!…

...Judy.

"Oh my," Quinn's mother gasped at the collection within Rachel's arms. "Those are lovely! Do you want me to help you carry them?"

"No, ma'am. Thanks, but I've got it."

"Okay then," Judy smiled. She stepped aside, allowing Rachel to walk into the house that had become like a second home to her.

Judy went off into the kitchen to finish making dinner for herself, leaving the girls to themselves.

The moment Rachel was halfway into the entrance hall was the moment Quinn chose to start her graceful descent down the staircase. Rachel looked up; a grin to end all grins exploded upon her face, burning her eyes from inside-out as she watched Quinn float down the stairs.

And when Quinn's eyes locked onto Rachel's face, Rachel's smile, Rachel's arms, onto _Rachel_, the shy but jubilant smile that warmed her own lips was enough to rival the brunette's adoration.

Quinn descended the last step, now right in front of Rachel. "Hi," she said. Softly. Reverently.

"Hi," Rachel said back.

"Are those for me?" Quinn asked, tilting her head toward all the flowers in Rachel's arms.

Well, all the _flowers_ didn't do it justice – the girl had a freaking _garden_ of bouquets.

"Oh! Yes, they are!" Rachel had almost completely forgotten about them, despite their weight. But could you really blame her? Who cared about flowers when you had _Quinn Fabray_ in front of you? A Quinn is so much lovelier than a rose.

Rachel pressed her mouth together and shrugged one shoulder. "I, um, didn't know what your favorite kind of flower is, so I kind of went overboard at the florist's today."

Quinn giggled this emotional giggle, like maybe she wanted to laugh, or maybe to cry, but she didn't know which one.

"Wow! Thank you, Rach!" She held out her arms. "Here, let me take some of those from you."

Rachel had six overflowing, colorful bouquets. Dark red roses with baby's breath; a rainbow of different colored daisies; yellow sunflowers; pink tulips; bluish-purple morning glories, and white gardenias. She transferred the first three bouquets into Quinn's grasp.

"Thanks," she said.

"No, thank _you_," Quinn insisted. "Really, it's too much." She checked to make sure her mom's back was to them in the kitchen, and then planted a quick kiss onto Rachel's now-blushing cheek.

"Come on," Quinn said, leading the way into the kitchen. "Let's put these in some water."

Judy helped locate six crystal vases and let Quinn and Rachel stick each bouquet into a different one. They filled them halfway with tap water before setting the vases out on the empty kitchen island.

"They're all so beautiful," Quinn said, hands clasped together as she stared in awe at the flowers.

"That was very sweet of you to bring so many flowers over, Rachel," Judy said. "What are they for?"

"Um, a botany project!" Rachel said with a brisk nod. "Thank you, Ms. Fabray – er, _Judy_ – but they're just for a botany project at school. Quinn and I are partners, and my task was to get the plants to study."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow and half-smiled at Rachel.

Judy's brow creased just the slightest. "I wasn't aware there even _was_ a botany class at school." She turned questioning eyes to her daughter.

"What? Oh, yeah!" Quinn said. "Definitely. Well, it's actually for biology class. Learning the cell life of different organisms and whatnot."

"I thought you were taking advanced chemistry this year…."

Quinn barked a laugh. "God, Mom! What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?" She hurried over to Judy and kissed her forehead. "I love you, but haven't you ever heard that curiosity kills the cat?"

Judy rolled her eyes but was smiling as she turned back to the countertop and commenced chopping vegetables. She figured she'd better let this one go.

Quinn spun to face Rachel. Now that the girl was no longer concealed by layers of flowers, she had the chance to fully appraise her looks.

Rachel wore a lightweight navy-blue dress with thick white straps; it was fitted tighter in the bust area, then it flowed down to just above her knees. Her hair was worn down and straight, side-bangs swooped all the way behind her ear, fastened with a thin silver pendant. Her lips were dressed in a subtle coat of rosy red lipstick.

Quinn thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Feeling a bit bashful from Quinn blatantly checking her out, Rachel brought silver-painted fingernails to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing her signature tiny gold-star-stud earrings.

"Beautiful," Quinn said, eyes twinkling with affection.

Rachel smiled her close-lipped, dimples-a-poppin' smile.

"What's beautiful?" Judy asked without turning around.

"Oh, the flowers," Quinn said, but her eyes were latched onto Rachel's.

"You girls better get going," Judy said. "It's already 7:10, and the movie starts at 7:30, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel said. "We really do need to go."

"Wait!" Quinn said, rummaging through her purse.

She pulled out her precious camera, a sleek black Nikon that took film instead of digital and even had a pop-up flash. It was her baby.

"Mom," she said, "Would you please take a picture of me and Rach before we go?"

"Sure," Judy chirped, setting down her knife and wiping her hands off on a dishrag before taking the camera from Quinn. "Lean in close, girls!"

They didn't need to be told twice; Quinn snaked an arm around Rachel's tiny little waist and pulled her in… Before ducking away just as Rachel was putting her own arm around Quinn.

"Wait!" she exclaimed again. "We should be holding the flowers."

"Good idea," Rachel said.

"But they're already in the vases," Judy pointed out.

"Don't worry about it," Quinn said, already extracting the bouquet of gardenias, roses, and daisies. She wiped off their dripping stems with paper towels so as not to get her dress wet. Rachel followed suit with the sunflowers, tulips, and morning glories.

"There we go," Quinn said with a proud smile. "Perfect!"

"Okay," Judy said. "Now, get together… Real close…."

They didn't need any extra prompting; right away, the girls scooted hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder.

They angled their heads together, eyes bright and grins wide. They held up the flowers between them with all the pride of solid-gold trophies.

"Say cheese!" Judy said, secondhand-smiling as she pressed her finger to the round silver button on top.

"_Cheeeese!_" they said in unison behind their teeth, giggling through their grins.

_Click_. Followed by a quick white flash.

"Gorgeous," Judy boasted, snapping back on the camera's dangling lens cap.

"Thanks!" the girls said. They put the flowers back in the vases.

Quinn took her camera and put it into her purse. She gave her mom a kiss on the cheek. "'Bye, Mom."

"Bye, honey. Make sure you're back by twelve."

"_Mo-om_."

"Okay, fine, one-thirty at the latest, all right?"

"Sounds much better." Quinn smiled her gratitude.

"Don't worry, Judy," Rachel said. "I'll take very good care of your daughter."

Judy lifted her eyebrows and licked her lips. "Don't worry… I don't doubt that for a second."

Rachel held out her arm. "Milady?" she asked Quinn, making sure that her tone was joking so that Judy wouldn't get suspicious of their flirty banter.

"Why thank you, fair maiden," Quinn giggled, slipping the crook of her elbow into Rachel's. A perfect fit.

Together, the girls strode from the house and into the warm evening air. A blazing sunset splashed the darkening sky with scorching orange-reds and deep indigos. The clouds had turned wispy and ink-colored.

"Wow," Rachel breathed, stopping for a moment to take in the view. "What a sight to see."

Quinn's eyes dipped over Rachel's profile – the exotic nose, that single beauty mark on her cheek. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It really is something."

They started walking again, halting once they'd reached Rachel's vintage, pale pink car. It had cost a small fortune, but considering it had been one of her only birthday gifts, it hadn't set her dads' bank account that far back.

Rachel held open the front passenger's door for Quinn.

"What a proper lady you are," Quinn commented as she slid into the black faux-leather seat.

"Only the best can be expected on a genuine Rachel Berry Date," Rachel said, closing the door behind Quinn. She went around to the driver's side and got in, buckling her seatbelt and turning the ignition.

"Well, Miss Fabray," Rachel said, lowering her brow and pursing her lips in a sultry look aimed right at the blonde. "I have just one question for you."

"Ask away."

"Are you ready for the night of your life?"

"That depends," Quinn said.

"On what?"

"On who's asking."

Rachel rolled her eyes playfully, breaking her seductive façade. "Me, of course!"

"Then, yes," Quinn's face broke into a grin. "I'm ready, Miss Berry."

Rachel pulled out of the driveway; Quinn pulled her camera from her bag.

She took off the lens cap and snapped a quick picture of Rachel's profile: one bright brown eye with the longest of lashes, twinkling from a leftover smile. The slope of that glorious nose. Full lips softened at the edge. Thin arm leading to a hand carefully wrapped around the steering wheel – ever the cautious driver.

As soon as she heard the tell-tale _click _of Sneaky Quinn in action, Rachel braked beside the sidewalk and whipped to face the blonde. Her eyes were widened in mock-outrage, but laughter formed on her lips.

"What are you doing?" she asked with amused exasperation.

"Documenting. I want to capture every moment of this night so I can remember it forever."

"But I wasn't ready!" Rachel protested, smoothing out her hair and smacking her lips. "Okay, get my left side…" She twisted to capitalize on her left and struck a dramatic pose.

Quinn giggled and snapped another picture. They had a brief photo shoot, with Rachel making fabulous or funny faces.

As Quinn egged her on, Rachel clawed at the air, pretending to hiss.

"Yeah, you're a tiger, baby!" Quinn joked. "_Rawr!_ Yeah!"

They both cracked up before Quinn finally put away the camera.

"Look at you," said Rachel, the gentlest of smiles manifesting on her face. "My little Shutterbug."

Quinn swiveled to fully face Rachel. A delighted grin reached all the way up to those sparkling hazel eyes. "Your little _Shutterbug?_"

"Yes," Rachel said. "You're always taking pictures, and you're as cute as a bug: ergo, 'Shutterbug!'"

"But bugs aren't cute, Rach," Quinn said with a laugh. "Also, have I mentioned how much I love it when you use words like 'ergo'?" She winked faux-seductively, eliciting a giggle from the brunette.

"Normal bugs aren't cute, but _shutterbugs_ are," Rachel said with a proud smile. "Like ladybugs – they're certainly bugs, but they're so dainty and adorable."

"Oh really now?" Quinn asked, crossing her arms over her chest and quirking an eyebrow, eating this up.

"Yep!" Rachel gave a decisive nod. "Because I said so, and I'm always right!"

Quinn chuckled with overflowing affection. "Is that so, huh? Well, I can't argue with that logic, now can I?"

Rachel beamed and pulled back onto the road.

"So, what movie are we seeing?" Quinn asked.

Rachel smirked, but kept her eyes on the road. "You honestly think I would take you to a _movie_ for our first date?" She scoffed. "Have you learned nothing from being around me for a year? Rachel Berry is _not _trite and predictable, especially when it comes to her romantic pursuits."

Quinn smiled and felt a delicious shiver run down her spine. _Romantic pursuits._ She liked the sound of that.

"No," Rachel continued. "I just said that to throw you off the trail. Plus, telling your mom we're just seeing a movie wouldn't make her suspicious since it _is_ so commonplace."

"Then what do you have in store for tonight?" Quinn asked, bubbling over with excitement.

Rachel reached a 'Stop' sign and was able to swivel her neck toward Quinn. "That is for me to know, and you to find out soon enough," she boasted with an audacious little smirk.

Quinn sighed as Rachel pulled out onto the main road. She kept sneaking glances at Rachel's profile along the way, a little smile playing at her lips as she kept thinking the same thing.

_How did I get so lucky?_

* * *

Approximately an hour, a marathon of belting along to songs on Rachel's iPod, and much laughter later, Rachel pulled down a back road. The street was lined with thicker trees, making it appear even darker than the waning sunlight in the sky.

"Where _are _we?" Quinn asked, not for the first … or even _tenth_ … time so far.

"_Almost_ there," Rachel promised. She drove for about five more minutes before entering a quaint shopping center of thrift stores, boutiques, consignment shops, and family-owned eateries.

Quinn snapped picture after picture of the storefronts, street signs, and looming trees that looked ancient and wise. She ate the town up with her camera lens, already falling in love with how it made her think of some small but heartfelt place from a storybook.

Rachel parked in front of one of the bigger buildings. A chalkboard sign in the window welcomed them to 'The Mad Hatter's Tearoom.'

Quinn turned toward Rachel with wide, awe-struck eyes. "You didn't!"

Rachel grinned, much like the Cheshire cat. "Oh, I did."

Shaking her head in amazement, Quinn started to get out of the car.

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Rachel exclaimed, clamping a hand onto Quinn's shoulder. "A lady always opens the door for her lady."

Quinn smiled to herself as Rachel got out of the car and came around to the passenger's side to let her out.

"Thank you, kind ma'am," Quinn said with a little curtsy.

"You are most welcome, lovely suitor," Rachel replied with a giggle and a comically deep bow. She held out her arm and waited for Quinn to loop hers through before leading the way to the front door of the tearoom.

"I've always wanted to go to a tea party!" Quinn said with all the excitement of a child visiting their first candy shop.

"I know." Rachel's heart filled with warmth and pride as she took in Quinn's reaction. _So far, so GREAT! _"That's why I chose this for our date. My dads used to bring me here all the time when I was younger."

They entered the tearoom and were greeted by an elderly hostess with curly white hair.

"Hello, girls," she said in that adorable little voice old people tend to have. "Reservation?"

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel beamed, shoulders rolling back and chest puffing up with pride. "Two under 'Berry.'"

The woman checked her list and smiled up at them. "Right this way."

She led them to a table-for-two near the middle of the room. The table was claw-footed and made of twisting black metal. The chairs were high-backed with a comfy, scarlet-colored cushion on the seats.

"Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess said before leaving the two smiling girls to their selves.

Quinn pulled out a chair before Rachel had a chance, tossing the eager brunette an expression rife with joy and purpose. "You've been taking such good care of me so far; it's only fair that I treat you like a lady, too."

Blushing with pleasure, Rachel sat down and let Quinn push the chair back toward the table. Rachel laid a cloth napkin onto her lap while Quinn got situated in the seat across from her.

Quinn folded her hands in her lap and quirked her head at Rachel. A smile still hung at her lips, shone in her eyes brighter than the candle flickering on their table, as she said, "Gardenias."

Rachel's eyebrows shot up; she couldn't help but laugh at the utter randomness. "Excuse me?"

"Gardenias are my favorite type of flower," Quinn explained. "You were sweet enough to buy me so many because you didn't know which was my favorite, so I'm telling you."

Rachel bit down on her lower lip, teeth curling back around it in the most adorably shy smile Quinn had ever seen. "Oh. Okay. Well, I'm glad I chose them amongst the others for you. Sunflowers, by the way."

Now it was Quinn's turn to laugh. "What do you mean?"

"Sunflowers are _my _favorite flower," Rachel said. She grinned and fired off a wink. "You know, for future reference."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Quinn smiled, making Rachel smile back.

God, they couldn't stop smiling! Not that they wanted to, but still; it were as if their mouth muscles were trained to leap up whenever they looked at each other, talked to each other, or were even just _around_ each other.

They perused the fancily-designed menus with contrastingly simple options for a few minutes, falling into a comfortable silence.

"Hello, ladies!" They looked up to find a chipper, middle-age woman standing before them with a mini-notepad and pencil in her hands. "My name is Martha, and I'll be your server this evening. Have you decided what your drink order will be? Or do I need to go over our special-_teas?_"

Rachel laughed out loud at the pun. "Oh, that's clever!"

Quinn looked at Rachel, shook her head, and giggled. Then, seeming to remember they had company, she cleared her throat and said to the waitress, "I'll have the mandarin-orange tea, please."

"Would you like that hot or iced?"

"Hot, please."

"All right, and for you?" Martha asked Rachel.

"I'll have the hot, lavender-vanilla tea, please-and-thank-you," she said with a brisk, no-nonsense nod.

Martha smiled to herself at the young girl's pseudo-professionalism before walking off to place the orders.

"I think it's funny how you ordered lavender-vanilla," Quinn said.

"Really? Why?"

"Because that's what you smell like," Quinn said simply, but with a note-worthy flush to her cheeks.

Rachel beamed. "It's my shampoo and body wash. 'Luxurious Lavender and Very Vanilla.'"

"Ooh, I'm loving that alliteration," Quinn smirked. "So, what do you think I smell like?"

Rachel didn't even wait a beat before answering. "You smell like pretty!"

Quinn's brow jumped as a guffaw burst from her lips. "What? I smell like '_pretty_'? Is that even a scent?"

"Sure it is," Rachel insisted. "You have your own unique smell; it's indescribable, but very lovely and just…_warm_. If 'pretty' had a distinctive scent, then it would be you!"

Quinn pressed her hands to the sides of her reddening face. This girl was too much, simply too much. Grinning like a fool, she said, "Well, thank you!"

"You're most welcome!"

Martha arrived with an old timey, sterling silver tray; among a few other items, there were two saucers housing delicate China cups brimming with steaming tea.

"Here you go, ladies," she said, setting the drinks in front of the respective owners. She placed the rest of the items from the tray – a bowl of sugar cubes, a bowl of cream, and a small vial of honey – down onto the girls' table.

"Have you decided what you'll have to eat?" Martha asked, slipping the tray under one arm and pulling out the mini-notepad to take their orders. "Any starters before the main course?"

"I'll have a fresh garden salad to start," Rachel said. "And as for the entrée, I'll have the fruit bowl, macaroni-and-cheese, and a bean-sprout sandwich."

"I'll have the Mad Hatter Salad special with the BLT – extra 'B,' please – and potato chips," Quinn said.

"You both made great choices!" Martha said with a friendly smile. "I'll have those salads right out." She hurried off again toward the kitchen.

"She's nice," Quinn commented. "I like it when people in the customer-service industry actually _like_ people."

Rachel nodded. "I know what you mean! Rude waiters or cashiers are the _worst_."

"Oh, totally," Quinn nodded with great vigor. "I'll have to do an exposé about that or something when I'm a reporter. You know, go undercover in the service industry and see what it's really like or something." She chuckled, mostly joking.

"Oh, please do," Rachel said with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Just promise me you'll choose the food service industry; I'd pay big bucks to see you in a hairnet."

"Honey, please," Quinn made a '_pssshh_' face and snapped her fingers in the air. "I could pull off a hairnet, no problem. I'll be the model of hairnets. I'll bring them back like disco." She did this bobbing motion with her head and pursed her lips like a duck.

Rachel was cracking up by this point, sounding like she was choking on her own laughter. "Disco is _never_ coming back, Quinn! Don't be delusional."

Rachel's laughter was so free and unabashed; it was contagious, making Quinn dissolve into giggles. They received more than one sidelong glance from the mostly older patrons around them, but they didn't even notice.

Once they'd collected their wits again, Rachel's eyes met Quinn's. From the way Quinn was looking back at her, so adoringly and sweetly, Rachel felt a deep blush unfurl all across her face.

Giant, monstrous, _glorious_ butterflies flew around her stomach. She was stricken with bashfulness, staring into the incredible eyes of one Quinn Fabray and wondering how on earth she could ever be so lucky. Quinn had chosen _her_. Dorky, overly excitable, Broadway-obsessed Rachel Barbra Berry.

"What are you thinking about?" Quinn asked, noticing the sudden shyness of Rachel's demeanor.

"I'm looking at you and I'm just," Rachel sighed this dreamy little sigh. "I'm at a loss for words right now. I'm _never_ at a loss for words, especially around you, my best friend. But now we're becoming _more_ than friends, and you look even lovelier than usual tonight, and… I have butterflies in my stomach, Quinn!" She widened her eyes emphatically and lowered her voice, as if this were some huge, conspiracy-worthy secret. "_Butterflies!_"

Quinn's heart melted straight to her toes. She licked her lips as they pulled open into a mesmerized smile, her eyes softening and brightening all at once.

"I get butterflies every time I look at you," Quinn said. And now _Rachel's_ heart melted, like butter on a hot pan, all the way to her tiptoes.

"Here're those salads for you," said Martha, appearing out of thin air. She set their bowls down and rubbed her hands together. "How are you enjoying your teas? Delicious?"

Rachel turned a bit sheepish. "Well, actually, we've been so busy talking, we haven't even tasted them yet."

"Nothing wrong with that," Martha grinned. "I'll leave you two to your salads." She disappeared almost as fast as she had arrived. Perhaps she was really a ninja but just moonlighted as a waitress.

"Do you think she knows we're here on a date?" Quinn asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"I hope so," Rachel said. "I want to show you off."

"You're going to make me blush my face off," Quinn joked, licking her lips again in that shyly flattered way that drove Rachel crazy with the need to jump across the table and meet that delectable mouth with her own.

Quinn didn't understand how one tiny little Jewish-American brunette could have such an outstanding affect on her. Boys hit on her all the time at school, said far more suggestive things, stared at her in the most ego-fluffing of ways, and yet the only person who was able to make her blush and get all bashful was the often-overdramatic, always-entertaining girl in front of her.

They fixed their teas with the right amount of sugar and cream before finally tasting them. The drinks had cooled off enough to no longer be steaming, but they were still hot enough to require careful sipping.

"Wow!" Quinn said. "This is _delicious!_"

"_Mmmm!_" Rachel agreed. "Mine is wonderful, too."

Carefully so as not to spill it, Quinn lifted her fancy cup halfway into the air. "To perfect tea with perfect company on a perfect night," she said.

"To _us,_" Rachel agreed, shortening the sentiment, and exchanged bright smiles with Quinn as they gently clinked their drinks together.

* * *

As they ate, they talked about anything and everything – school, the Glee Club, funny stories of their past, the one boyfriend Quinn had had before moving to Lima, hopes and dreams for the future, etc.

"I think it's great that we both have such high aspirations," Rachel said. "Me with Broadway and you with your photography and reporting." Her eyes sparkled with excitement and conviction.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "We're both very ambitious and passionate. But sometimes I get so scared that I can't fall asleep at night, thinking about what life will be like if my dreams don't come true and I end up stuck here as a Lima Loser with nothing to show for my existence."

Rachel frowned, not so much with sympathy but with _empathy_. "I can relate," she sighed. "I mean, I just _know_, deep inside of me, that my dreams _are_ going to come true. I don't know if I've tricked myself into believing it after all these years, or if it's just this inevitability that I've realized. Either way, despite believing it, I have moments of intense desperation towards not really knowing for sure how my future will turn out. There are _so _many things that could happen between now and then, you know?"

Quinn nodded in agreement.

"However, there's a very simple way you won't be a Lima Loser," Rachel added.

"And what's that?"

"Just move to New York with me when we're older! Maybe you could even work for _The New York Times_."

Quinn smiled. "I'd like that. But to be honest, I'd rather go to Yale; it's kind of been a dream of mine ever since I was little."

"Oh?" Rachel gave a surprised and impressed smile, and maybe just a _little _disappointed. "That's great!"

"Yeah, that's the plan."

The conversation flowed even better than the tea, which was the best tea either girl had ever had.

About forty-five minutes later, after they'd finished eating and sharing parts of their delicious meals with each other, the bill came. Rachel reached for her purse to pay for it, but Quinn was faster with her own wallet.

"No," Rachel protested, "It's on me."

"Nope," Quinn said, shooting Rachel a stern look, as if daring her to argue. "I've got it."

"No, Quinn, really; at least let me split the cost with you."

"Rachel," Quinn said, honing in on her old HBIC flare. "You've done enough already; the least I can do is get the bill." She laid out enough cash to cover the cost, plus a generous extra amount for Martha's tip.

Rachel couldn't help but smile. "Well, thank you. You're very chivalrous, Quinn."

"Not as chivalrous as you," Quinn said with a little half-smile, standing up and slinging her purse strap over her shoulder.

Rachel grabbed her own purse and followed Quinn out of the tearoom. Outside, the air was fresh and warm. Night had fallen but various lampposts and lights from the stores made the town seem vibrant and awake.

Quinn took a picture of Rachel posing beside the tearoom's chalkboard sign in the window. "Beautiful," she said, stashing her camera back in her bag. "I'm going to make a hundred copies of that one."

"But you don't even know how it turned out," Rachel said, laughing with delight.

"Trust me; it's a keeper," Quinn insisted. "So, what now, boss? Do we shop around for a bit? Explore this quaint little town?"

Rachel sidled up beside her. "Ooh, _boss,_" she purred. "I like the sound of that."

Quinn stared at Rachel's seductive pout, lost for a moment in a barrage of lustful thoughts. She brought her own lips down to Rachel's ear and said in her husky voice that drove Rachel wild, "Careful, or I'm going to have to start kissing you right here, on the middle of the sidewalk, with random people passing by."

Rachel stood up on tiptoe and whispered into Quinn's ear, her tone just as sultry, "Actually, I would not object to that." Quinn's eyes fluttered shut as she shivered at the sensation of Rachel's warm breath tickling her ear.

But then Rachel added playfully, "A spotlighted make-out session would be great; you know how I love to perform," and Quinn was mock-groaning and pushing the shorter girl away.

"Okay, now you just made it creepy," Quinn said.

"Or _kinky_," Rachel rebutted, giggling at her own joke.

Quinn rolled her eyes and swatted at her playfully.

Rachel caught Quinn's hand as she pulled away from the swat and laced their fingers together. Quinn grinned at the move.

"Come on," the brunette said, tugging Quinn forward.

"Where? I thought you said all the shops are closing."

"It's not shopping."

"Then what?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Reporter's instinct."

Rachel spun around and yanked Quinn against her, rising up on tiptoe to capture her lips in a hard, pressing kiss that rocked through both girls' bodies. "Will _that_ shut you up?" she asked, half-against Quinn's lips, her own curving in an impish smile.

"_Mmm_, shut me up some more, please," Quinn whispered, kissing Rachel soft and slow this time.

Rachel pulled back, licking her lips to savor Quinn's taste, her eyes bright and stomach warm. "Now come on, Shutterbug!"

Giggling, she led Quinn down winding sidewalks until they were at the middle of the shopping center's square. There, on a makeshift stage, were several people with classical instruments. On the ground all around the stage were dozens upon dozens of black metal folding chairs.

Soft, swelling, romantic music began drifting through the air. They stayed at the back of the crowd, choosing to stand instead of sit, holding hands and listening to the beautiful music fill their souls.

A male stepped up to the microphone on the stage and started to sing, his voice deep and dreamy and worthy of the Sinatra song he sang. "_Fly me to the moon; let me play among the stars_…"

"Do you want to dance?" Rachel asked rather abruptly, spinning to face Quinn, her face bright with hope.

Quinn smiled softly, her heart fluttering. "Sure."

"…_let me see what spring is like on a-Jupiter and Mars…_"

Rachel rested her hands on Quinn's shoulders; Quinn placed hers on Rachel's hips. They gazed into each other's eyes, swaying in time on their feet, special little smiles playing at their lips, burning in their eyes.

"…_in other words, hold my hand; in other words, baby, kiss me_…" Rachel popped up on her tiptoes to steal Quinn's mouth in a kiss at the same time the song instructed it so.

They melted together, tugged their bodies flush together, kissing with mingling tongues and smacking lips and racing hearts.

"…_fill my heart with song; and let me siiiing forever mooree…_"

When they parted, they kept their chests close, heartbeats overlapping; Rachel laid her head against Quinn's neck.

"…_you are all I long for; all I worship and adore…_"

"Hey, Rach?" Quinn asked, so quietly, and yet Rachel caught every word, taught it into her heart.

"Yes?"

"Will you… Would you like to…" Quinn shook her head at her own stammering and finally said, in a burst of quick words and unabashed hope, "Be my girlfriend?"

Rachel lit up from within as she pulled back just far enough to lock eyes with the taller girl; her amber-brown eyes gleamed brighter than the stars, cheeks flushed a radiant pink, and mouth blew all the way open, flashing every white tooth and popping up her little dimples.

"Is Barbra Streisand my inspiration? Can I now flawlessly hit that elusive high-F? Will I become the queen of Broadway? Am I the _luckiest_ girl in the _entire_ _world_ right now?" Rachel babbled.

Quinn threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and carefree and light as the fresh breeze around them. Her glowing expression and beaming mouth rivaled Rachel's. "I'm taking it you mean 'yes'?"

"Yes!" she said, nodding vigorously. "I will absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, with every fiber of my tiny but dramatic being, be your girlfriend. It would be an honor, a dream come true, a wish on a star, a – "

Giggling, Quinn shut her up by locking her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. "Stop talking," she whispered, her warm breath tickling Rachel's chin, "and kiss me,… Girlfriend."

Rachel didn't need to be told twice.

Quinn slipped her arms up around Rachel's middle as Rachel linked hers behind Quinn's neck; they kissed, deep, mouth parting to savor their _girlfriend's_ delectable taste even more.

And she thought about how Rachel was wrong.

_She _wasn't the luckiest girl in the entire world right now.

Nope.

_Quinn_ was.

But since she was feeling gracious, she decided that, tonight, they could call it a draw.


	7. Present - 4

Apparently my story was recommended on a website called L Chat? :) Whoever did this, thank you so much! :D That was so sweet of you. And thank you to all the reviewers on here who are anonymous/guests; I can't personally reply to you, but you made me smile with your kind words. :')

All right, it's time for the reunion... Are you guys ready? ;) Take a deep breath, aaaannnddd... ACTION!

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_**Present - Morning of the Interview**_

Quinn was late.

It was the first time they were seeing each other in _three years_, Rachel had arrived at the hotel ten minutes early, she'd since been waiting for thirty, her stomach was a mess of nerves and worries, and _Quinn was late_.

'Infuriating' didn't even cover half of it.

Rachel's foot bounced up and down, up and down; her fingertips tapped an unstoppable rhythm against her knees. She sat on a couch in the far back corner of the hotel lobby, facing the front entrance. She stared at the revolving door that spit people in and out of the building, her anxiety (and hopes) rising each time a person came in, only to crash when it wasn't the one who was _supposed_ to be meeting her.

Finally, the questions and impatience grew too much to bear. She whipped out her phone from her purse and hit the proper speed dial.

Jesse answered after three rings. His tone sounded worried, his words coming out fast. "_Hey, Rach, is everything okay? Is the interview over already? How'd it go?_"

"Actually," Rachel huffed out an irritated breath, "It hasn't even _started_."

"_Wait… What do you mean?_"

"I _mean,_ I've been sitting here like an idiot, waiting for a half-hour, and there's been no sign of her yet."

"_Oh, man, I'm sorry, Rach. How much longer are you going to wait?_"

"Not much, I'll tell you that." Rachel glared at the revolving door. "I'm giving her five more minutes, tops, and then I'm out of here."

"_You don't think she's standing you up, do you?_"

"With her?" Rachel snorted a harsh laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised. I can't believe she hasn't even called or anything. She's probably too afraid to talk to me." This scathing mockery from the same girl who had called Jesse rather than the number Rebecca had given her to get a hold of Quinn.

"_What a bitch_."

"I'll say." Rachel shook her head, scowl so hard it almost crumpled her face. "You know, I have half a mind to call the magazine she works for and complain to her bo – "

At that second, a whirlwind of black, denim, and blonde came spinning through the door, bursting into the hotel and then skidding to a stop, neck swiveling left and right as eyes sought out something.

Rachel froze, the phone slipping out of her hand and landing in her lap. Her eyes doubled in size, breath caught in her throat, and everything in the world seemed to stop and zoom into the figure that had just dashed inside.

Quinn Fabray.

_Three-years-older_ Quinn Fabray. Standing in the middle of the entrance hall, wearing a black blazer, white T-shirt, and dark denim skinny jeans, with her long blonde hair pulled up into a high, graceful ponytail that swung behind her as she looked around.

Quinn Fabray: who Rachel could tell, even with thirty yards separating them, yards that felt both like only feet and impossible miles, was as beautiful as ever.

"_Complain to her _what_, Rachel?_" Jesse's voice floated up from her lap, concern edging back into it. "_Hello? Rachel? Are you there?_"

Rachel's heartbeat was racing, palms were sweating, and eyes were glued to Quinn. She was helpless to do anything but stare. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. Her stomach writhed, nerves and…and _excitement_…and fear, all tumbling around inside.

She blinked, once, twice, gathering her bearings, and picked up her phone. "She's here, Jesse," she whispered, words tumbling out fierce, scared, _exhilarated_. "Oh my God, she just got here, but she hasn't seen me yet!"

Rachel was tucked into a corner, and Quinn wasn't looking far enough over. But Rachel could see every one of Quinn's movements.

She watched as Quinn licked her lips, smoothed her hands over her hips, and started walking with a purposeful stride over to the front desk. At least some things were still the same; Quinn still walked with confidence, grace, and a 'move-out-of-my-way' sort of determination. Shoulders back, head held high, a sashay to her hips. A dancer's walk, a model's walk, a business woman's walk. Quinn's walk. It was stupid, how much nostalgia crashed into Rachel at the sight, made her head go dizzy with it.

"_Are you serious?! Well, what does she look like? What is she wearing? Has she gotten fat?"_

"Yes; still gorgeous as ever, unfortunately; a fashionable outfit that shows off her feminine figure; and no, she's at a perfect weight for her height."

"_Damn it! I was hoping for 'ugly; last season's high-water jeans; and yes, by at least fifty pounds._"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well, she's as lovely as ever, Jesse. What do I do?!" She dropped her head into her hands, groaned.

Quinn had approached the front desk by now. The concierge woman was busy on the phone, so Quinn waited, leaning into the counter. As she did so, her butt stuck out; Rachel's eyes hungrily swept over her body, lingering on her rear, then down her toned legs, before dragging back up again. She cursed herself for doing so, cursed her heart for thudding hard in every pulse point, and cursed her throat for turning dryer and dryer.

And she cursed Quinn, too, for having such a hot body. And such a cute butt. Stupid butt!

"_She's there to interview _you_, remember? It's entirely work-related. It would be unprofessional of you to back out now. Just go over to her, get the interview over with, say goodbye to her forever this time, and be on your merry way back to your exceedingly handsome best friend_."

Rachel tried hard to ignore the way the words 'goodbye to her forever this time' shot through her system like a hit of ice so cold that it burned her veins, inside-out, making her shiver all over.

"Oh my God, I can't let this happen!" she wailed, quiet enough not to draw attention to herself from bystanders, but the desperation burned loud in her tone, made her hand curl so tight around her phone that she was surprised it didn't snap in half.

"_Let _what_ happen?_"

"I can't let her win the breakup!"

"…'_Win the breakup'? What are you even talking about, Rach? You're not making any sense._"

"Yes, I am. I'm making perfect sense! 'Win the breakup' – the person who comes out the most on top after a breakup, the one who has their life the most together and who looks the best and who has moved on the most, they're the winner. It's this whole unsaid and complicated but well-known _thing_. She knows about it, Jesse, trust me, and she's going to be so smug and petty when she finds out she's won."

Jesse laughed, not with mockery, more so with a mixture of disbelief, affection, and maybe more than a little amusement. "_Rachel,_" it was firm, almost a scolding, a warning, trying to reign her back in. "_I assure you, it is _not_ well-known, and as despicable as Quinn Fabray is, she's not here to show you that she's won anything or whatever. Besides, you're even more beautiful, you have a _starring role on Broadway coming up_, you're best friends with the most handsome leading man around, and, may I add again, _you have a starring role on Broadway coming up! _You're a superstar legend in the making. If anyone's come out the most on top here, it's you. Don't forget that she's here on _your_ terms, to interview _you_. You're the star here. Now, stop being such a baby, and go over to her!_"

Rachel tried to listen to him and take his advice, she really did, but she could only half-listen, so that even his compliments didn't fill her with as much pride and glory as they usually did. Instead, as soon as he said that last part, she went into full-blown freak-out mode again.

"Are you kidding me?" she hissed, staring at the phone as if Jesse could see her incredulous expression. "I can't go over to her! She's…she's…_ugh,_ she's sexy, okay? She's _sexy_. I can see it even from here, rolling off her ass in a big hot wave of mockery. I bet she did this on purpose. I bet she arranged this whole stupid interview so she could throw her hotness in my face and finally, once and for all, figuratively, _kill me!_" Rachel almost choked on the last words; her throat felt scorched, dried out, and the words were racing out too fast, tripping over one another to leave her mouth, heaving all the way up from her chest.

Tears prickled her eyes, panicked tears, angry tears, scared tears, as she watched Quinn and the concierge woman behind the desk. The woman was now off the phone, hanging it back into its cradle, and turning to Quinn with a big, friendly smile. Rachel watched the woman's mouth move, but from this distance, she had no clue what she was saying. Probably something like, '_Oh, you're here to see the short, not-as-hot-as-you brunette girl who came in here A HALF HOUR AGO, you late bitch? Well, she's over there in the corner, freaking the fuck out, and scared to talk to you because she hasn't seen you in THREE YEARS and you're choosing now, when she finally has important things in her life to lose, to come waltzing back in and fuck with her mind.'_

But, you know, with less cuss words, to keep it professional.

"_Whoa, calm down! Take a deep breath, sweetie," _Jesse's voice was smooth and consoling, providing her with instant comfort.

Rachel closed her eyes and obeyed, breathing out stress, breathing in strength, begging her mind and body to calm down and, for once, not to be a complete raging diva. "_Rachel, you are _gorgeous_. You're the most talented person I know – well, besides me_" that earned him a weak but genuine chuckle from her "_and you're going to go over there with a Tony-award-winning smile for Best Actress, and you're going to be coy and aloof and dangerously cool, and then we're going to celebrate your kick-assedness with a bottle of wine at our place and marathon some Streisand movies, okay?_"

"Can we start with _Funny Girl _and then finish with _Funny Girl_, too?"

"_Whatever you want._"

"Thanks, Jesse," Rachel felt lighter, but still frazzled. "You're amazing."

"_I know_."

She scoffed at his smugness, but it only made her love him more.

Rachel watched as the concierge woman, seemingly in slow-motion, pointed not just her finger but her entire freaking _arm_ toward the corner where Rachel sat. Rachel shrank back into the couch, blinking until the tears went away, and tried not to breathe too loudly, as if they would be able hear her inhales.

To Rachel, the concierge woman's smile was too big, too perfect, too plastic, like a scary mannequin come to life. She imagined the entire hotel darkening, save for a bright white spotlight beating down onto her and the couch, lighting her up, alone and small. She imagined everything going deadly silent, save for a cough somewhere in the room, a few taunting snickers.

And then, again in slow-motion, her perfect ponytail bouncing as she did so, Quinn turned around.

Before she could see her, Rachel lifted her purse and hid behind it. "Jesse!"

"_Yes?_"

"OhmyGod, _Jesse_, whatdoIdo, whatdoIdo, whatdoI – "

"Rachel? Is that you?"

That voice.

She would know it anywhere, at any volume, in any tone. That voice had filled her reality and her dreams for four years, dancing through her ears like a song tuned to a frequency that only her heart could pick up on. And then, when it abandoned her, that voice haunted her in her nightmares, staying behind to torture her even though its owner had long since left it behind.

Yes, it was _that_ voice. Quinn's voice. Sounding curious and confused and, surprisingly, _hopeful_.

_Damn it!_ Busted. She was so very, very busted.

You know, over the years, Rachel had fantasized about running into Quinn. In these fantasies, Rachel would be wearing a figure-flattering, _hot_ outfit, she'd have either a sexy boyfriend or a sexy girlfriend on her arm, one who was so much better than Quinn at everything, and she would already have won _at least_ one Tony. Quinn would stutter and stammer around Rachel, or maybe Quinn would be taking a sip of a drink and, when seeing her gorgeous ex prancing past her with a gorgeous guy or gal, she would spit that drink out all over herself, in some heinous color, like red wine staining all over a once-pristine white dress. Quinn would start crying, bemoaning the day she was ever stupid enough to leave Rachel Berry. Rachel would barely even remember who Quinn was when Quinn approached her, begging her to take her back. Rachel would decline –graciously, of course, because that's just the type of woman she was.

These fantasies knew no bounds (one even included an impromptu marching band procession bursting out into an instrumental version of 'Since U Been Gone', which would end in Quinn falling backward into a tuba, dress falling over her head to flash the crowd her granny-panty underwear, and then the tuba player would hit a high note in the song, and Quinn would go shooting out of it, flying through the air with cartoonish accuracy, only to land face-first on top of a giant cake with icing on the side that spelled out 'SCREW YOU, FABRAY!'

That one was Rachel's favorite.

Well, and the one where Barbra Streisand herself slapped Quinn across that stupidly perfect face and yelled at her for being selfish and horrible enough to break Rachel's heart. And when Quinn would undoubtedly reply, "Why do you even _care?_" Barbra would seize Quinn by the collar of her shirt, yank her in nose-to-glorious-Jewish-nose, and growl, "She. Is. My. _Daughter_." Whereupon Rachel, watching this unfold from the shadows, would step forward and commence in a happily-ever-after reunion with Mama Babs, and Quinn would flee in anguished tears.)

But never, not once, did Rachel imagine that the first time Quinn saw her after their breakup, it would be like _this_. Caught hiding behind her purse, cowering in the corner.

Yeah, not exactly particularly empowering. And sorely lacking in tubas. And Barbra. She needed Barbra!

"OhmyGod, Jesse, she's spotted me," Rachel squeaked. "Igottago, byeIloveyou!"

"_Whoa, okay, good luck! Call me after, bye, I love y-_"But she was already hitting the 'End Call' button and tossing the phone back into her purse.

Then, slowly, pasting on her best surprised face, she drew her neck up from the purse, looking around as if she thought she had heard someone call her name, maybe, but where were they? She did a great job, if she did say so herself, brow puckered in confusion, lips parted open, neck swiveling to and fro.

"Rachel!" Quinn again, sounding eager this time, borderline…_nervous_. That voice, ripping through her, _into_ her. _Pull yourself together, Berry!_ The sound of footsteps, clicking against the highly polished tile of the floor. "H-hey, it's me!"

The stutter on that 'hey' was all Rachel needed. It burst apart Quinn's flawless façade, revealing the bare naked truth buried beneath:

Quinn was just as scared to be here as Rachel.

Knowing that she was on equal playing field boosted Rachel with newfound confidence, with the feeling that she could _do_ this, she could get through the next however many hours with Quinn and come out on the other side, victorious and smiling and happy to have finally gotten closure, for once and for all.

Rachel allowed her eyes to travel to Quinn's direction. She was only five yards away now, still walking that perfect walk, though perhaps with an increased speed, an extra swagger of purpose to her gait.

Rachel stood up from the couch, shouldered her bag, and folded her hands in front of her to conceal their quiver.

With each step Quinn took, sealing the distance between them, making up for more than a thousand days with only fifteen – now ten – feet, the more details came into view.

Quinn wore lipstick: a dark, classic shade of red.

Nine feet.

She wore her trademark cross necklace, but this time gold rather than silver, hanging to her breasts.

Eight feet.

Looped through her dark denim skinny jeans was a gold belt.

Seven feet.

Fabulous gold gladiator sandals, showing off a red pedicure that matched her manicure.

Six feet, two inches, annnd…stop.

The whole time, she looked over Rachel's shoulder, at something supposedly _very interesting_, her eyes not budging.

Quinn Fabray, 'three years, six feet, two inches, and right now' away from her.

And those eyes, those damn green, bright, expressive eyes were finally leaving the area above Rachel's shoulder.

Hazel-green met amber-brown for the first time in three long years. They met for the first time since goodbye.

The image of each other's faces, so close, only six feet, three inches away, crashed over both girls. Rendered them speechless. Stalled their hearts before jolting the pace into overtime. Made those lingering eyes widen, take one another in, lapping up the familiarity and differences before them.

Finally, blurting it out, and mentally kicking herself after for the nervous tone, Rachel said, "Um… Hi."

* * *

Quinn was running late.

She was running so, _so_ late, almost thirty minutes, and counting.

If only it hadn't rained last night, there wouldn't have been that stupid puddle of mud, and then the taxi driver wouldn't have zoomed by at that precise stupid moment, and it wouldn't have splattered her perfect, painstakingly chosen outfit all over with mud. She wouldn't have had to take the fastest shower of her life, wouldn't have had to change into a _less_ perfect outfit, and wouldn't have had to wear her still-damp hair up in a ponytail to keep it from frizzing.

She wouldn't have had to _run_ up and down the block, jumping in front of a waiting couple to take the next available taxi. She wouldn't have gotten cussed out by them. She wouldn't have had to pay the taxi driver a ten-dollar bribe for him to hurry up and drive _away_ from the cussing couple she had slighted, before they came in after her and got physical.

The taxi had, of course, gotten stuck in traffic, until she finally gave up on it and speed-walked the last two blocks to the hotel.

It was one hell of a morning, to put it lightly.

She finally, after what felt like _hours_, reached the hotel. She stopped to catch her breath, to dab away any sweat from her forehead and neck, and to pray to God that this all wouldn't turn out to be one giant mistake.

She started shivering, even though it was warm and sunny outside. Her teeth chattered. She stared at the revolving doors, her entrance to the hotel, to Rachel, to this freaking reunion she had to suffer through for her job.

She didn't want to go inside. She wanted to be back at home, still asleep in her nice cozy bed, having the deep and peaceful dreamless sleep she hadn't actually gotten last night. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

_You can do this, Quinn_. She shook out her shoulders, jumped from foot to foot. _You can _do_ this!_ She pulled out her compact mirror from her purse, checked her circular reflection. Bared her teeth – no lipstick on them, good. Flared her nostrils – no boogers, even better. Winked at herself – still charming as ever.

She could do this. She could _do_ this!

Because she _had_ to do this.

Her job depended on it, and maybe, if she were being honest with herself, so did her peace of mind. She needed closure. She needed to know she hadn't ruined Rachel's life. She needed…she needed to see her. It struck her, a sudden need, all-consuming: she had to see Rachel. Right now. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world, and Quinn didn't want to waste another second. Time to get this over with, march on in there, and make herself proud with how mature and responsible and _brave_ she could be.

_Go get 'em, tiger!_

She ran through the revolving doors, let them deposit her into the hotel, and sprinted inside – before realizing that she was, in fact, running. _Play it cool, Fabray_.

She skidded to a stop, smoothed her palms over her hips to rid their sweat, and looked around for Rachel. She tried not to be too obvious about it.

After a few heart-racing, stomach-flipping moments of trying to find her, Quinn still could not locate Rachel. Why did she have to be so short, so easily missed in a crowd?

But Quinn knew she was here. Even after all these years, her Rachel Radar still worked, _beep-beep-beep_ing deep in her gut to announce that the tiny brunette was somewhere in the lobby, hidden from view.

Quinn thought about calling out Rachel's name, but she wasn't _that_ desperate (yet). Instead, she played it cool. She thought logically, not allowing herself to cave into the nerves eating away at her insides. Mind over matter, as they say.

Throwing back her shoulders, lifting her chin, and honing in on her HBIC attitude, she strode toward the front desk. If there was anyone who would know the comings and goings of those in the hotel, it would be this woman. Only problem was, _this woman_ was on the phone, in a deep conversation.

No problem; Quinn could wait.

She leaned her elbows against the desk, as casually as she could, and leaned forward.

And waited.

_Get off the damn phone!_

And waited.

_Oh. My. GOD. GET OFF THE FREAKING PHOOONNEEEE!_

And waited some more…

_How dare you ignore me standing here! Hang up the freaki –_

Finally, the woman said "all right, have a great day; goodbye!" and hung up the phone. She turned her attention to Quinn with a big ol' my-job-is-to-please-people-but-please-don't-be-an-asshole-'kay-thanks smile.

"Hello there. How can I help you?"

Her nametag read Rhonda. _Help me, Rhonda; help, help me Rhonda._

Quinn smiled in her best I'm-nice-now-but-if-you-piss-me-off-you-will-regret-it smile. "Hello! I'm looking for a girl. She would have gotten here around ten-thirty, maybe earlier. She's just over five-feet tall, has dark brown hair, and is…is pretty." _Pretty._ HA! What an understatement, what a lie, what an _insult_.

Her throat tightened as she realized that she might be wrong about her description; maybe Rachel's hair _wasn't_ dark brown anymore. Maybe she'd dyed it. It was completely possible. A lot of things change in three years, hair color being one of the least extreme examples. Quinn felt weirdly panicked over the thought that Rachel wouldn't be the same shade of brunette she'd last seen. She didn't want her to be different. It was a childish kind of need, startling in its ferocity, but it roared inside of Quinn, the need for sameness.

Which was absolutely ridiculous, since _of course_ things had changed. Hell, _everything_ had changed. And Quinn had been the one to make it so. She didn't have the right to complain.

"Lucky for you, there has only been one short brown-haired girl who came in here at that time," Rhonda said, still grinning, as if this was the best conversation she'd had in her life. Professional ass-kissers tend to be like that. "Would she have been by herself?"

"I think so, yes." Unless she came with someone. Or, you know, _with_ someone. (No, Quinn _didn't_ know, nor did she want to.) Please, God, let there be no 'someone's with Rachel. This would be awkward enough without adding an audience. And if that _audience_ was romantically involved… Quinn didn't feel _jealous_ at the thought, just…kind of sick to her stomach. There's a difference.

"All right then, I saw her head in that direction." The woman pointed her arm to the corner of the room.

"Thank you," Quinn said, smiling sincerely this time.

"No problem. Have a great day, goodbye!"

Quinn just nodded, throat too dry to squeeze out any more words, and turned around.

She squinted and saw a small figure sitting on a couch. A small brunette figure, with a purse for a face.

Her heart leapt, stomach clenched, and hopes took flight.

She cleared her throat and called out, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt, "Rachel? Is that you?"

She watched as the body, which had been rummaging around inside the bag, stilled. Quinn took a step forward, and the bag slipped just a few inches down, revealing a familiar forehead, and then that big, glorious, exotic nose that could only belong to one person.

And then, slowly emerging, teasing Quinn's insides to writhe in time with her pounding heart, there was Rachel's face in its entirety.

It slammed over Quinn, thousands of memories fighting for dominance, emotions warring inside, sending a burst of lightheadedness until she rocked backward on her feet, gripping at her own purse for some semblance of balance.

Oh my God. There she was. Quinn couldn't believe it. How could Rachel be _here_, in the same room as her, _right there?_ How could she still be so freaking, mind-bogglingly adorable, the way she looked around with wide, confused eyes and her plump lips parted as if in half a dream?

"Rachel!" The name burst out with far too much enthusiasm for Quinn's liking, not smooth and calm like she wanted, edged and colorful and packing too much emotion into just two syllables. She started forward, her sandals too damn _loud _in the otherwise quiet of the lobby. "H-hey, it's me!"

Oh my gosh, she sounded so _dorky! _So _nervous! _Please, Ground, open up and swallow her whole.

She watched as Rachel stood up, her posture as prima-ballerina-perfect as ever, her bag slipping onto her shoulder. For a second, Quinn let herself take in the sight, and it was all she could do not to stop dead in her tracks.

She was so familiar, and yet so…so…_different._ Like Quinn had feared, she didn't recognize this version of the girl she had left behind, standing before her. She had somehow, impossibly, against the laws of the universe, gotten even more gorgeous. And not just gorgeous, but _sexy_.

It took just a squeeze of a heartbeat to look at her, but in that time, Quinn memorized these details:

Rachel, wearing a tight black shirt with silver studs all along the shoulders, an even tighter black faux-leather skirt that hit mid-thigh, a pair of sheer tights with black lines criss-crossing all over, and a pair of black flats with silver buckles on them.

Rachel, her once-long hair now medium-length, just past her shoulders, and her trademark bangs now gone in favor of a side-part and elegant, tapered layers. But at least it was still dark-brown.

Rachel, grown-up. She had grown up, having the audacity to do so without Quinn.

Quinn was afraid to look closer. Afraid to find more changes in that once-memorized face, body, person she had known better than she'd known herself.

She kept walking forward, kept her eyes at a focused spot _not_ on Rachel, and coached herself to breathe.

Soon, sooner than she would have liked, she was standing in front of her. Time to stop walking. Time to stop avoiding. _Look, Quinn. You have to look._

Look and see what you've done.

Almost against their will, her eyes dropped from Rachel's shoulder, swung to meet hers instead. The whole world stopped, just for them, all other sounds in the room white-noise, inconsequential. As soon as they latched together, as soon as she really _saw_ her, _into_ her, just like old times, just like nothing had changed even though _everything_ had changed, Quinn was angry. Livid.

Rachel had matured, had turned into a twenty-two-year-old adult. Dressed like it, looked like it, face rid of the slight baby fat it once held in her teen years.

And Quinn was _pissed off…_

Until she remembered that it was her own fault.

Now she was just tired.

She didn't want to look away from Rachel. Her eyes begged her not to blink. Those eyes, such a bright amber-brown, with such long and luscious lashes. Those eyes had seen things, seen _Quinn_, seen into parts of her that she'd kept hidden from the rest of the world, hidden even from herself. Those eyes, the ones that had turned cold, hard, desperate, _crying_, years ago, pleading with Quinn. And Quinn's had blinked. _Poof_. Gone. Quinn's had left, had snapped the tether.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that it came as a shock, an absurdity, when Rachel spoke.

"Um… Hi."

Her voice was the same at least. It washed over Quinn's ears, instant comfort, instant torture.

But Quinn, Quinn couldn't speak. Her mouth floundered: open, closed. Open. Closed.

Words.

What are _words?_

Her eyes darted all over Rachel, desperate for familiarities, and found these at least: She was still short, she was still thin, she still had those passionate eyes, and that little beauty mark on her cheek, and that proud nose.

Quinn made herself snap out of her trance and said, soft, a breath, "Hi."

It sounded like a question. It sounded like twenty different meanings wrapped up in that one syllable. It sounded like a car wreck, and all either of them could do them was watch.

Rachel, for her part, was holding up pretty damn well.

You know, if you didn't account for the way her hands were bunching into fists so tight that her knuckles flashed white. Or how she was having difficulty breathing. Or how she was already counting the minutes, _seconds_, until this was all over, and she could be back home with Jesse, already forgetting.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Quinn said. "There was an incident with a puddle of mud. I had to change, and then when I finally caught a taxi, it got stuck in traffic and…" She bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Rachel said, batting a hand to wave away the agonizing anxiety she'd endured waiting for Quinn to show. It was easy to smile, pretend like it didn't matter. Even though she wanted to slap her. _How dare you make me wait! _"Things happen."

Quinn decided to pay Rachel a compliment. Just to soften the mood. No other reason. Not because she really _meant_ it, of course. "You look nice. I like that outfit."

Read: _Why did you grow up without me?_

"Thank you," Rachel said, as coolly as possible. "I got most of it at this designer outlet in Manhattan."

Read: _Because you made me._

Quinn smiled, lips carving up like a good girl, and nodded. Her mind went blank.

"You look nice, too," Rachel said, the biggest understatement of her life. "The red lips work well for you." Nope, there it is; _that's_ the biggest understatement.

"Thanks; I thought I'd try something new."

This was surreal. This was _insane_. They hadn't seen each other for _three years_, and the first thing they talk about is _lipstick?_

"Look, I-" Quinn started to say, at the same time that Rachel began with, "So, do you-."

They laughed a little, the sound more uncomfortable than mirthful, and Rachel waved at Quinn to go first.

"Um, I was just," she licked her lips, then shook her head. She tried for a placating smile, a sweet little head tilt, but felt fake, like a callous bitch. "This is silly. We're standing here acting so awkward, like complete strangers. Are we just going to ignore what happened?" She hated herself. Wanted to slap herself. Why was she allowed to speak?

Rachel blinked in surprise; her mouth hardened away all pretenses of casualness and indifference. "I was hoping we would, yes. I think talking about it would be far more awkward, but since you decided to bring it up…" She twisted her hands together, praying Quinn couldn't see their tremble, couldn't hear it in her stone-cold voice.

"I just want to say, and I know this is going to sound insincere, but…" Quinn took a deep breath, and with it, dropped the fake friendliness. She allowed herself to be raw, open, regretful, remorseful. "I really am sorry about the way things ended between us. I know it's not ideal, me interviewing you today, reopening old wounds when we're both on the brink of big career moves. So, I want to clear the air, and apologize, and hope that we can get through the next few hours with as little animosity as possible. And then, when it's all over, you can go back to hating me. Just not for today. Please."

Rachel fought to remain impassive, but her face shivered to show what she felt. As she listened to Quinn talk, her breaths quickened in a way scarily close to how it got before tears arrived, and she thought over and over again, to keep herself from cracking, _You're a bitch, you're a bitch, you're a bitch, bitch, bitch_, like a demented jingle inside her head, aimed at Quinn.

_You think you can just patch things up like that? You're a bitch. You think you can erase what you've done? You're a bitch. You think I can just forget about it for the next few hours? You're a bitch. You think you deserve to be spared for what you did to me? You. Are. A. Bitch._

Rachel couldn't say any of that, though. This was a business meeting. She had to be professional, like Jesse had said. Besides, it did the soul good to be the better person, to rise above and show kindness.

"I don't hate you, Quinn," she said, sugary sweet, her smile souring halfway through into more of a smirk. It was weird to say her name like that, so casually; it was even weirder for Quinn to hear it. "And as for reopening wounds, well, I have none to open. Honestly, it's kind of arrogant for you to assume that I would find this situation uncomfortable. As if I'm still carrying a torch for you, as if seeing you today has enough significance on me to make me upset."

Okay, so much for rising above. Her tone was still poisonously sweet, that mockery of a smile still in place, though her eyes burned with anger, fury, accusation. "Honestly, I'm glad you ended things when you did. I had been wanting to for a long time, but hadn't had the courage to do so. You allowed me to move on and become the better woman I am today. So, I should be thanking you. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't be here today, about to be interviewed for my role in a sure-to-be-a-hit Broadway musical." She took a breath, annoyingly shaky at its edges, and said, this time in a normal voice, though somewhat tired, drained, "So, thank you."

Quinn's eyes were wide, lips pressed tight together, a bright red slash where her mouth used to be. She didn't know what to say to that. Nothing would suffice. So, she just nodded. Ignored the ringing in her ears, the echo of those words, hitting her again and again and again.

"Well," Quinn rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Now that that's been established, I guess we move forward."

Rachel's turn to nod. "We'll be completely polite and professional."

Quinn stuck out her hand.

Rachel hesitated, but only for a second. Then, she slipped her hand into Quinn's. The shake was hard, just one quick pump, crushing finger-to-finger, bone-to-bone, before dropping away at the same time.

Remembering something, something from the past, back when things were whole and warm and bright and new and lovely, Quinn said, "Hello, my name's Quinn Fabray, and I'll be interviewing you today."

Somehow, impossibly, just barely, Rachel allowed herself to smile. "Hello; I'm Rachel Berry. It's a pleasure, Ms. Fabray."

And somehow, impossibly, just barely, Quinn allowed herself to smile back.


	8. Past - 4

**Chapter Eight**

**_December 2010 – 11__th__ Grade_**

Quinn shook so badly, she could barely spin her locker combination.

Her arms trembled as muscles seized and teeth chattered like an old wind-up toy. It was the Monday of the last week of school before Christmas vacation. As far as the weather was concerned, it may have already been mid-winter in Alaska rather than Ohio – it was at freezing temperature outside, cold enough for Quinn to have to bundle up in multiple layers just to stay warm.

Usually, she loved wintertime fashion, but when it was colder than Rudolph's butt outside and the heater was barely even cranked up inside, she was finding herself missing the babydoll dresses and skirts of fall.

She'd just managed to open her locker and was stuffing her backpack inside, muttering mild obscenities under her breath about how chilly the school was, when a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind.

"Guess who!" trilled that beautiful, instantly recognizable voice. Rachel, of course.

"Hmmm…" Quinn lifted her arms and covered the hands over her eyes with her own. She curled her fingers around the smaller girl's and held tight. "Let me guess… Santa Claus? Have I been such a good girl that you came to give my presents early this year?"

"Nooooo!" Rachel laughed; the sound blanketed Quinn with more warmth than the scarf around her neck. "Guess again!"

"Okay…" Quinn rubbed her palms over the back of Rachel's, melting away the frigidness of their fingers with their shared body heat. "How about… Jack Frost? Excuse me, I mean, _Jackie _Frost."

Rachel tapped her fingers against Quinn's eyebrows and smiled to herself. "I'll give you a hint; I'm short and adorable and dramatic and…" She lowered her voice to a whisper, "I'm also your girlfriend."

"Oh! Well, that's easy then; you're obviously Tina!"

Rachel huffed and yanked her hands away from Quinn, eliciting a snicker from the taller girl. Quinn spun around and grinned shamelessly at the scowl upon the brunette's countenance.

"I'm just kidding," Quinn said, poking her in the side. "I knew it was you, Dimples."

Rachel batted Quinn's hand away but couldn't fight back her own smile. "I guess I can forgive you; you look so very pretty today, it's hard for me not to." She surveyed Quinn's outfit of dark blue pea coat that contrasted brilliantly with her curled-out, golden-white hair; the fancy gold scarf; and the skinny jeans tucked into beige booties.

Quinn wanted so desperately to kiss Rachel hello, but considering they were at school with all their classmates milling by, the idea was one-hundred-percent off-limits. She was, however, able to tuck a loose lock of Rachel's hair behind her ear and let her fingertips linger for a moment at the side of that magnificent face.

Rachel's eyes closed for just a second at the intimacy before Quinn had to retract her hand. "I can't take my eyes off you," Quinn whispered, smiling softly at the way her compliment made a grin burst across her girlfriend's mouth. "And I _want_ to not take my hands off you, too."

Rachel wore her hair up in a high ponytail today, side-bangs sweeping across her forehead. She rarely wore her hair up, but Quinn loved it when she did, for it showed off the slope of her neck and the curve of her dainty collarbone. The outfit she had on was so typically _Rachel_; a red long-sleeved shirt with white horse silhouettes all over it, paired with a red-and-black plaid skirt, black tights, and black Mary-Jane shoes.

"Then you should come over after school today," Rachel suggested, biting down coyly onto her plump lower lip in a way that made Quinn's heart beat faster. "I think I have some mistletoe we could just-so-happen to step under together."

"As tempting as that sounds, I have so much studying to do for mid-terms this week. As do you, if I recall, considering we have the majority of the same classes." Quinn turned back to her locker and grabbed the supplies she needed for her first few periods before shutting the door. When she swiveled back to Rachel, she had to smirk a little at the childlike pout the girl wore.

"We can study together," Rachel said with her trademark stubbornness.

"The last time we tried to study together, we ended up exploring more of the female anatomy than conjugating verbs for Spanish," Quinn pointed out.

Rachel sighed. "Fine, Quinn. If you want to repress your girlfriend to death, then by all means, go for it. Just make sure you sing a Barbra song at my funeral and decorate the coffin with gold stars." She pivoted on her heel, ponytail whipping out and smacking Quinn's nose, and started to stride off on those surprisingly long and fast legs of hers.

Quinn zipped out a hand and caught Rachel's shoulder, spinning the petite powerhouse back around. "You are _so_ dramatic," she said, rolling her eyes, "But lucky for you, I find your diva outbursts quite sexy. So, I'll let you come over today and have your way with me, but _only_ after we've studied, okay? Yale -worthy grades don't just fall into your lap, you know. I need to keep up my straight-As."

Rachel smiled an audaciously victorious smile. "You got it, Fabray!" She saluted and fired off a wink.

Quinn offered a crooked elbow. "Ready to tackle Pre-Cal?"

"You betcha!" Rachel looped her arm through Quinn's and snuggled into her side.

They fell into step down the hallway, lazy smiles crawling up their faces at the nearness of each other, of this beautiful secret they had that was too special to share with their ignorant classmates.

"So," Quinn said, knocking her hip gently into Rachel's, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I _think_ that _somebody's_ birthday is this Saturday? I don't know _whose _it could be, though. Any guesses?"

Rachel grinned from ear-to-ear and giggled, bumping Quinn's hip right back. "I'll give you one hint: Me."

Quinn threw her head back and laughed loudly, warmth spilling through her stomach. "You're ridiculous!" she said, shaking her head. "You're no fun; you don't play along long enough, if _at all_."

Rachel chuckled heartily, head tilting and nuzzling into the side of Quinn's shoulder for a moment. Her heart sprouted wings and fluttered in her chest, all the way up to where it pounded in her throat. "Sorry, baby," she said, quietly so as not to catch any nosy person's attention. "But you know my birthday is my favorite day of the year. It's the one time where I can demand all the attention on me, and nobody will think I'm being selfish."

A half-smile appeared on Quinn's face at this logic. "Plus, you get presents and _cake_."

"Oh yeah," Rachel said, "Can't forget the cake!"

They turned the corner onto a new hallway, halfway to their classroom now. "Have you given out your birthday party invitations yet?" Quinn asked.

Rachel was silent for a moment, distracted by the way the question made her heart ache and stomach sink. She took a deep breath before answering and plastered on her chirpiest grin. "Nope!"

"And why not?" Quinn tugged them to a halt next to a locker embankment. She drew away from Rachel just enough to be able to look down into her eyes. "You can drop the false cheeriness, by the way; I know you well enough to tell when you're genuinely smiling or not."

Rachel huffed and let her facial muscles sag into the defeat she felt. "Fine. I'm not having a birthday party this year."

Quinn's brow knitted together as a frown flipped her mouth over in concern. "Seriously? How come?"

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and lifted one eyebrow. "Need I remind you of last year?"

Rachel watched as Quinn winced at the memory, understanding dawning onto her face. Rachel didn't want to take a walk down _that_ particular Memory Lane – one with only one lamppost that flickered across a scene of cracked sidewalk and nefarious creatures hiding in the shadows – but it was impossible not to.

Last year, – her Sweet Sixteen, no less – she'd spent _hours_ painstakingly decorating cutesy invitations and sending them to everyone in Glee Club. She'd gotten exactly _one _RSVP: Quinn. No one else had even bothered to tell her they weren't coming; they'd just hemmed and hawed around the subject when she'd asked them, saying they weren't sure if they could make it. Rachel had spent the entire morning of her party decorating and picking out the perfect outfit, smiling when she thought about all her fellow Glee Clubbers together at her house.

Needless to say, she'd been devastated when nobody but Quinn had shown up.

And then, to make matters even worse, she'd been even _more_ devastated when, at the first Glee Club rehearsal after winter break, she'd overheard Kurt and Mercedes reminiscing about how much fun Artie's Christmas party had been _three Fridays ago_, which had been the date of Rachel's birthday party.

So, yeah, last year's disastrous "celebration" was not exactly a fond memory for Rachel.

Discreetly, Quinn flicked her eyes around to make sure no one was paying attention to them before reaching out and prying Rachel's arms away from her chest so she could link their fingers together. She offered Rachel a kind, encouraging smile. "What happened to super-optimistic, never-give-up Rachel Berry? What happened to 'try, try again'?"

Rachel's closed lips tugged upward in a ghost of a smile. She squeezed Quinn's hands, accepting the strength and comfort she provided. "I can't keep pretending like the people in Glee really care about me," she said. "Besides you, of course. It just…" She looked away, pain flashing across her features. "It hurts too much."

Quinn's heart tore at her girlfriend's despair. Just as she was opening her mouth to console her, Rachel spoke first.

"Honestly though," she swung her gaze back to Quinn, a small but sincere smile appearing. "I'm excited to spend the day with you and my dads! Really, you guys are all I need to have a good time."

Rachel felt better already at this, knowing that there were at least three amazing people in her life whom she could always rely on. Her parents and her best-friend-slash-girlfriend. It would be selfish to ask for more from the universe, really.

"'Kay," Quinn said, dropping Rachel's hands; the diva strutted down the hallway and beckoned over her shoulder for Quinn to follow.

"Come along, my little Shutterbug," Rachel called over her shoulder, making Quinn smile with ample affection toward Rachel's special nickname for her.

And though she let the matter drop, as they finished their trek to Pre-Cal, the wheels in Quinn's mind were churning with the grease of a new idea.

She knew her girlfriend still yearned for more companionship, for more respect and _love _from her supposed Glee friends who really didn't even deserve that title after all the times they'd taken Rachel for granted.

She knew that what Rachel really wanted for her birthday was a celebration with _all _of her friends.

And so a celebration she was going to get.

* * *

Wednesday after school, Quinn met Rachel at her locker before Glee Club started.

"Hey, Q-Q!" Rachel beamed, stuffing her backpack with her homework for the day. "You ready for some good old-fashioned song-and-dance?"

"Actually," Quinn said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Shoot," Rachel said with a prompting nod.

"Could you please show up for practice ten or fifteen minutes late?"

Rachel's neck drew back, a scandalized look flashing through her eyes, as if Quinn had just asked her to strip-dance to 'Santa, Baby' in front of the whole school. "You're not _serious_, are you?"

Quinn couldn't _not_ smirk at Rachel's dramatic reaction. "Serious as I'll ever be," she said. "Just trust me, Rach."

Rachel pursued her lips and stuck her hands on the hips of her black-and-gold miniskirt. "I trust you, Quinn, you know I do, but how am I supposed to represent being a good team captain if I'm not punctual to every single meeting? If I'm late to even _one_ rehearsal, there _will_ be anarchy, Quinn! Pure _anarchy!_ Our peers will not know how to contain their power-thirsty urges, and there will be an uprising against my position as leader!"

Quinn rolled her eyes all the way into the back of her skull, shoulders hunching up with stress. "_Rachel,_" she whined, staring right into those bright brown eyes, begging her to see reason. "I promise on _my life _that that will _not_ happen. You have got to stop pretending like your life is some Shakespearian tragedy. Just, for once, don't question things and just _obey_, all right?"

Rachel flicked her eyes to the ceiling and grumbled something unintelligible.

"Can I take that as a yes?" Quinn asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Yes," Rachel said, slamming her locker with extra gusto. "I just wish you would tell me _why _I have to go in late."

"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise."

_That _got Rachel's attention; she perked up, head cocking and eyes widening and brow jumping. An inquisitive smile sprung at the edges of her mouth. "A '_surprise,' _you say? For little ol' me?" She fluttered her long lashes like a Southern belle.

"Of course, silly!" Quinn's tone dripped with ample '_duh_.' "Why else would I need you gone?"

"Oh my gosh!" Rachel squealed, throwing her arms around Quinn's neck and crushing away her air supply for a second before jumping away just as abruptly. "I will make sure to show up fifteen minutes after four. See you then!" She waved so fast that Quinn thought her wrist may fling off, and then literally _skipped_ off down the hallway, like a leprechaun on a sugar high.

Quinn watched her go, smiling to herself with that soft smile that only Rachel could elicit.

She headed to the choir room, slinging her backpack farther up her shoulder, a woman on a mission.

* * *

Once everyone was seated for Glee (sans Rachel, that is), Quinn raised her arm and stared at Mr. Schuester expectantly.

"Yes, Quinn?" he asked with a polite smile.

"I have an announcement to make," she said, hopping up from her chair and striding to the shiny black grand piano. She swapped a friendly smile with Brad, their resident piano man, before turning around to face her peers.

She channeled Rachel's authoritative presence by rolling back her shoulders and lifting her chin. The faces blinking back at her showcased anything from curiosity to annoyance.

Quinn cleared her throat before proceeding. "As I'm sure many of you are aware, our very own Rachel's seventeenth birthday is coming up."

"Didn't know and _definitely_ didn't care," Santana quipped from her spot next to Brittany and Brittany's new boyfriend, Artie. Kurt, Artie, and Puck nodded their agreement.

Quinn's nostrils flared, but she chose to ignore the rude comment – for now. Santana should consider herself lucky Quinn was letting that slide.

"_Anyway_," Quinn planted her hands on her hips and swept her confident stare around the room. "I spoke to Rachel's dads last night, and they're letting me plan a surprise party for her!" She let a happy, close-lipped smile stretch up her face at this news, ignoring how it had more of a frowning or groaning effect on the other Glee Clubbers.

"It will be held on her actual birthday, which just so happens to be the first Saturday of winter break," Quinn continued. She waited a beat before adding: "That means _this _Saturday, the eighteenth."

The group broke out into whispers, exchanging 'oh crap, how do we get out of this?' type of expressions.

Finn looked as confused as ever, like if he thought any harder, he would be constipated.

Tina and Mike were shaking their heads vigorously with alarmed, widened eyes.

Kurt was filing his nails, as if he were too important to even be listening to this.

Sam was the only one giving Quinn his full, respectful attention, but the way his eyes gleamed eagerly when she looked his way made her feel more than a little wary.

"So, you're all invited!" Quinn added, injecting enough pep in her voice to make up for the distinctive lack in her so-called friends. "Be at Rachel's house _no later_ than three-fifteen p.m., because her dads will bring her back home from the movies at three-thirty. We'll all hide in her basement, and when she walks down, the party will begin!" She clapped her hands together.

As the seconds dragged by and the reactions remained sheepish or unenthusiastic, her grin grew heavier and heavier before collapsing completely.

"All right," she said, dropping all pretenses of friendliness. A scowl twisted across her hardening face as her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Are you guys being serious right now? We're supposed to be a _team_ here, which means going to each other's birthday parties, _right?_ God, I really don't think that's too much to ask, for you guys to at least _pretend _to be decent human beings who care about their friends."

"Yeah, but," Finn licked his lips, unable to make eye-contact with Quinn, "Most of us aren't really friends with Rachel. Like, I dated her last year, remember? And it didn't exactly end all happy and stuff."

Artie nodded. "Rachel is annoying and demanding. No offense, Quinn; I know you're good friends with her, but the rest of us… Well, the rest of us _aren't._"

Quinn's eyes flashed dangerously; anger built inside her, coursing her blood faster and hotter through her veins. She glared at Artie, hard enough for him to draw back into his wheelchair. "Offense _taken_," she spat, before cutting her death stare around the room, "from _all_ of you."

"You know," she said, tone dropping scarily calm, "I don't know what I expected. We all talk a big game here about having each other's backs, but when it comes down to it, you're all a bunch of selfish jerks. Rachel would take a bullet for _any _of you guys; she may not sacrifice her solos all that easily, but she's there for you when it comes to the important things in life. She would be the first one at _any _of your parties, and she'd be there with a proud smile and a sweet, sentimental gift."

Several people started fidgeting in their seats, guilt slowly but surely crossing their features.

Kurt looked up from his nail file and chewed at his lower lip.

Mercedes stared down at her shoes.

Brittany stuck the end of her ponytail in her mouth and started flicking her neck around like a horse, making Santana shoot her an amused smile and Artie eye her warily from his peripheral vision.

"So, are you guys going to do the right thing and show up to Rachel's birthday party, with a _nice_ present for her?" Quinn asked. "Or, are you going to prove to me how careless you truly are?"

Mr. Schuester finally spoke up from where he sat behind Quinn on a stool. "We're a family here, guys," he reminded them. "That means treating each other the way you would want to be treated."

"I'll go to Rachel's party," Sam piped up, staring at Quinn with the look of a brave martyr who deserved to be rewarded.

"Kiss-ass," Puck muttered, rolling his eyes at the blond boy. Then, louder, he asked, "Will there be alcohol?"

"No," Quinn said, piercing him with an 'are you really that stupid?' look.

"Then what's in it for me?" he demanded, cocking one eyebrow in a challenge.

"Look, Fabray," Santana said, "I don't like you _or _your obnoxiously peppy, K-Mart-loving friend. You can't guilt trip me, because that would involve me actually having _compassion_, something that I've banned from my soul ages ago."

"How about you just cancel this surprise party before it even begins?" Tina suggested. "It's not like Rachel even knows about it, so how could her feelings be hurt in the first place?"

"Yeah!" Finn, Artie, and Mike agreed in unison, with bobbing heads.

Quinn could go down the aisles and slap each person across the face (well, besides Sam). She really could – and she'd do it hard, too, stinging enough to make them regret being such assholes toward her girlfriend.

Instead, she found herself relying on some tactics she'd often used when she was the HBIC most popular girl back at her old school: Threats, manipulation, exuding power so fierce it turned palpable.

"I didn't want to have to do this," she said, heaving a sigh that dripped false regret. "But you've given me no choice. If any one of you doesn't show up to Rachel's surprise party on time witha heartfelt present, then I'm going to have to quit Glee Club."

"What?!" Mr. Schuester yelped.

"Aw, _hell _to the naw! We need you, Quinn!" Mercedes slammed her fist onto her thigh.

"That is stupid and _selfish!_" Kurt exclaimed.

"No," Quinn snapped, "_You _are all being selfish! Either you come to Rachel's surprise party, or I'm out of here." She raised her chin and crossed her arms in a cool, composed manner, but on the inside, her heart was zooming at the confrontation. It had been a long time since she'd pulled a stunt like this, and it made her feel powerful…but more so freaking _pissed_ still at how rude her peers were to her girlfriend.

"Quinn," Mr. Schuester sprang up from his seat and came around to the girl, placing his hand on her shoulder and trying to peer reason into those furious hazel eyes of hers. "Let's not be rash here."

Quinn shook Mr. Schue's hand away from her shoulder and ignored him. He didn't matter right now; this was between her and the rest of the Glee Club.

Santana stared at Quinn with cool indifference. Slowly, she folded her arms over the chest of her Cheerios uniform and arched her perfectly-waxed eyebrows.

"You're bluffing," she said. "There's no way you would quit Glee, because your attention-whore best friend would never let you do it. She needs you here to help rally for her solos, and for whatever reason, you're whipped."

Quinn's cheeks flamed and teeth gritted. She couldn't be sure, but she thought smoke may be spewing from her ears, whistling like an angry tea kettle. 'Attention-whore best friend' and 'you're whipped' rang through her skull, swirling a dark storm cloud to crackle fury through her brain.

She was _not_ going to let that slide this time; Santana Lopez was going to regret opening her big mouth.

Quinn took slow, purposeful steps to where Santana sat on the front riser. Her eyes never left the raven-haired cheerleader, and she took a delicious sort of satisfaction in how Santana glared back at her but was noticeably shifting her legs around in an uncomfortable manner.

Quinn stopped when she was just a foot away from the girl. She leaned in and said, in a voice so quiet and so controlled that it terrified everyone in the room, "You think you're so tough. You think you can intimidate me? Honey, I've _been_ you. If you ever want to insult me or my best friend again, be my guest; I'd be happy to prove how tough you _really_ are."

Santana sneered but broke eye-contact. "Whatever," she grumbled. Brittany reached over and grabbed Santana's hand, flashing scared eyes at Quinn's carefully composed demeanor.

Smirking, Quinn drew away and stepped back to the piano.

"Santana, for all her rude behavior and not knowing when to keep quiet, makes a good point," she said. "Rachel would never let me leave Glee Club on my own." She let everyone begin to smile smugly at this, thinking they'd won. She let them feel that dash of victory for a few seconds before crushing it beneath her boot.

"That just means she'll have to quit with me, and together we can join the drama club," she said. "Truthfully, we should do this anyway, seeing as how Rachel cares more for acting _and_ singing than she does for just singing. And the drama club is probably a lot more accepting than you guys."

"I'll go to your party," Brittany said. "Just to see if Rachel really does live in a hobbit-hole like Santana says."

"If Britt goes, I'll go," Artie sighed, sliding his hand into his girlfriend's and exchanging a sweet smile with her.

A strange look stampeded across Santana's face – it was almost something like…pain. She stared at Brittany and Artie's joined hands for a moment too long, eyes shining with emotions buried deep within.

"Great!" Quinn grinned. "So, we have Brittany, Artie, and Sam onboard so far. Anyone else want to RSVP?"

Seeing no other choice lest they want to lose two of their star players to the drama club, the Glee Clubbers grumbled their assent.

"Perfect!" Quinn smirked, radiating triumph. "I'll send you all a Facebook message with Rachel's address."

"Oh, and one more thing," she added, walking back to her chair with a new pep in her step, "If anybody spills the secret to Rachel and thus ruins the whole _surprise _aspect of the party, you can bet your ass I'll quit Glee Club before you can even say 'losing at Regionals.' Got it?"

Everybody mumbled their yeses again, some throwing in colorfully choice words for Quinn.

As the clock ticked to exactly four-fifteen, Rachel entered the choir room, eyes bright and smile wide. "Hey, guys!" she greeted, striding over to take her seat, front-row-center, beside Quinn.

Noticing the glares and curses flung her way, she knitted her brow together, smile turning confused. "What did I miss?"

* * *

"_Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy biirrrtthhdaaay dear Raaaachhhiieeekiiinnsss! Happy birthday to you!_"

The largest and brightest of grins flew up Rachel's cheeks as she propped herself up on her pillows. Her dads walked into her bedroom with a tray of her favorite breakfast items and a homemade smoothie, singing to her in sweet, festive harmony.

Rachel rubbed the sleep from her eyes, fully awake now. She cuddled her covers around her as Hiram set the tray onto her lap and Leroy ruffled her hair.

"Good morning, babygirl," Leroy said.

"Happy birthday!" Hiram planted a kiss to her forehead.

Rachel giggled. "Thank you, Daddies! You should wake me up to a serenade and breakfast-in-bed every morning."

"Yeah, and spoil you even rottener than you already are?" Hiram teased. "I don't think so."

Rachel chuckled and took a hearty sip from the strawberry-banana smoothie. _Deeeeelicious!_

"Make sure to be ready for the movie at one," Leroy said as he and his husband left their daughter to her breakfast. "And wear something really cute. You know, uh, for your special day, of course."

"Of course, Daddy," Rachel said, smiling after them and taking a bite of buttered toast. She grabbed her cell phone from its spot on her nightstand, smile leaping impossibly higher when she saw the new text messages she had.

There was one from Quinn, sent exactly at midnight: **HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GIRLFRIEND! I wanted to be the first to tell you so. I can't wait to see you later tonight and give you my 'X's and 'O's in person. :D**

There was even one from Mercedes: **Happy bday, Rach! :)**

And one from Tina: **hope your birthday is as awesome as you are!**

And yet another from Quinn: **Did I mention how HAPPY I want your birthday to be? I can't wait to eat cake with you and watch you open your presents and see that gorgeous smile, Birthday Girl!**

Rachel thought she might explode from overflowing joy. She texted Mercedes and Tina back with her gratitude, saving Quinn's for last.

To her girlfriend, she wrote: **Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, girlfriend of mine. xD Daddy and Papa woke me up with breakfast-in-bed. Already, I didn't think the day could get any better, but then I was reminded of how I have YOU in my life. XOXO to you, Shutter!**

Rachel swung out of bed and headed to her bathroom to take a nice, hot shower. She couldn't wait to spend the first half of the day seeing a new, cute-looking romantic-comedy with her dads, and then go home and have Quinn come over later to spend the night.

She was certain today would be her best birthday yet!

Well, little did she know, her prediction would prove truer than she ever could have imagined.

* * *

Ten minutes after the Berries left to catch the movie, Quinn parked her car a few houses down (the neighbors had been notified of Rachel's party and had allowed the guests to park their cars in front of their houses rather than the Berries' driveway, so as not to make Rachel suspicious when she got home).

Quinn jumped out with her purse and overnight bag slung over one shoulder, a bag filled with decorations over the other, and a box filled with all the other birthday essentials in her arms.

She took the key from its hiding place in the big flower pot that Rachel's dads had told her about and let herself into the house. Inside, she was met with instant relief – the heater was cranked up, washing over her in warmth and eliminating the shivers she had from being outside. It was at below freezing temperature out there, with a high chance of rain at night and snowfall come morning.

Quinn made her way down to the massive basement. It was relatively bare, just a few pieces of comfortable furniture, a stage (of course), a karaoke machine (again, of course), a refrigerator, and a small TV on a countertop.

She spent the next two hours decorating so cutely and so creatively that Martha Stewart would have adopted her as her daughter right then and there.

She whistled and hummed and sang to herself as she worked, receiving a fresh thrill to her heart each time she thought about Rachel's sure-to-be-joyful reaction to her surprise party.

Quinn set her coat, scarf, and mittens onto the countertop, thoroughly warmed up now. She wore an absolutely _adorable_ party dress, if she said so herself: tight and long-sleeved and Christmas red, sloping at the waist to show off her slender figure and ending at her knees to display creamy white tights tucked into studded, black booties.

Her hair was styled up in a sleek ponytail with a gold headband, side-bangs framing across her forehead and ears sporting gold hoop earrings. She'd dressed extra-pretty, just to make Rachel even prouder to have her as a girlfriend.

Quinn smoothed down her dress, took a deep breath, and checked her vintage gold wristwatch: it was almost three o'clock. Her fellow members of New Directions should be arriving soon.

Tina, Mike, Mercedes, and Kurt showed up as the first group. They each held a present of varying sizes in their hands, but with one common thread – they were all wrapped in the same pink plaid wrapping paper.

"Hey, guys!" Quinn greeted as they walked into the basement. "Put your gifts on the counter and make yourselves at home." She made sure to give them each a big hug, striving to be a good little hostess. To her relief, they all hugged her back, and rather than appear resentful toward her for basically making them come to the party, they all wore small but sincere smiles.

Finn, Sam, and Puck were the next batch to show up, and though Sam seemed genuinely happy, Finn and Puck looked uncomfortable.

Finally, at the "fashionably late" time of three-twenty, Santana, Brittany, and Artie entered. It was more than a little – okay, more than a _lot _– weird to see the two cheerleaders wearing something other than their high ponies and Cheerios uniform. The raven-haired and blonde-haired partners-in-crime both wore their long locks down and straightened. Their eyes had the same kind of wing-tipped eyeliner over the top lid, and they wore matching green sweaters with skinny jeans.

"Hello," Quinn said, walking up to them. She gave Artie a little wave and smiled when he returned it with a red-and-green-striped fingerless glove.

She turned her attention to Brittany and Santana. "I'm glad you girls could make it," she said politely.

"Thanks," Brittany grinned. "Rachel's house is pretty cool, even if that giant painting of her at the basement entrance kind of freaked me out at first."

"Britt thought it was really Rachel and tried to hug the painting," Artie explained, flashing an amused smirk at Quinn.

Quinn would have smiled back, but she noticed the way Brittany's cheeks tinted bright pink at this.

Apparently, Santana noticed, too. "Anyone could've made that mistake," she snapped, glaring at Artie.

Brittany smacked her glossy lips together, eyes trained on Quinn's forehead, as if afraid of looking to her left or right and having to catch the rude looks her best friend and boyfriend were currently exchanging.

"Anyway," Santana huffed, holding up a bag from Victoria's Secret. "Britt and I went shopping together and got Berry this. Where do we put it?"

"On the countertop with the other gifts," Quinn said with a gentle smile, seeing the first sign of kindness she'd ever detected in Santana. It was the first time Santana had spoken about Rachel without any venom searing through her words. Sure, her tone wasn't exactly _friendly_, but for once, it wasn't hostile.

"That's not an exploding stink bomb, is it?" Quinn joked, pointing to the pink-and-black bag.

Santana rolled her eyes, but for a second – just a second – a smile tugged at her full lips. "I make no promises," she said, dark brown eyes warming as a humorous moment passed between her and Quinn.

But then Artie was pointing up above, laughing at the mistletoe, and Brittany was leaning down to grab his face in her hands and press her lips to his in a lingering kiss.

As Santana watched Brittany and Artie, her mouth tightened into a grim line and her eyes narrowed. She curled her fingers so hard around the waxy white handle of the bag that Quinn could _see_ the blood draining from them and turning the tips a shade paler.

Santana stormed off to the countertop of gifts, not bothering to apologize when her shoulder knocked into Quinn's. Brittany pulled away from Artie and turned to Santana… Only to find that she had already walked away.

"What's her problem?" Artie asked with a roll of his eyes, as if Santana's immature behavior was all too commonplace.

Quinn felt a twisting deep within her stomach, thinking that she knew _exactly_ what Santana's problem was. She swiveled around to face the girl, watching as she slammed Rachel's present down on the countertop before slinking away to flop listlessly on the couch. She saw the agony in Santana's slumping shoulders, the emotions warring within her eyes, and the way her arms encircled her middle as if holding herself together.

She thought maybe Santana wasn't such a bitch after all.

Maybe the girl had a secret of her own.

Quinn heard her text message notification go off in her purse and ran to retrieve it. The time was 3:27, and the message was from Hiram: **We'll be home in precisely two minutes. Everyone in position!**

Quinn responded to let him know she'd gotten the message and then turned her ringer on silent. "All right, everyone!" she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together. "Turn your phones off and find a good hiding place; Rachel will be here in just a few minutes!"

Everybody started giggling and whispering as they found a place to hide – behind the couch, in the corners of the stage, beside the fridge.

Quinn grabbed her camera from her purse and dangled it around her from the neck strap. She got the settings pre-set to the right modes before turning off the basement lights and standing by herself in the middle of the room. She wanted to be the first person Rachel saw when she got down there.

"Quiet, everyone," Quinn scolded when the laughter and whispers grew too loud. Thankfully, the room turned silent just as the basement door creaked open.

_It's show time,_ Quinn thought, unable to stop grinning like an idiot or shifting her weight from foot to foot. Any second now, Rachel was going to flip on the lights and receive the birthday party she'd always dreamed of. The funny thing was, even though this celebration was for Rachel's happiness, Quinn didn't think anyone could be more excited than she was right now.

Because _she_ got to be the reason for Rachel's smile, and if that wasn't the best feeling in the entire world, then she didn't know what was.

* * *

"_Brrrrr_," Rachel said, rubbing her hands together, which sported the hot pink fuzzy mittens Quinn had bought her for her birthday last year. She tugged off her scarf as Papa shut the front door behind her and Daddy.

"Hey, Rach?" Hiram said. "Why don't you go down to the basement and get me and Daddy some beer from the fridge?"

"Sure thing, Papa," Rachel said, hanging her scarf, mittens, coat, and purse onto the wooden coat rack. She pranced off for the basement, humming 'Jingle Bells' in pitch-perfect melody to herself.

She'd taken Daddy's advice and dressed "really cute" for her special day: a black cashmere long-sleeved shirt, her favorite skirt (pink with white hearts all over it), white tights, and gold flats. She'd even braided her hair in an elegant French-braid, a style that none other than Queen of Braids Quinn Fabray had taught her a few weeks ago.

Still humming, Rachel opened the basement door, relishing the welcoming creak it made. She flipped the lights on and proceeded to sashay into the room, neck bobbing, arms swinging, and hips rocking to the beat in her head.

She was a few steps into the room when she looked up from her dancing feet and screamed at the sight of somebody standing right in the middle of the basement.

"SURPRISE!"

Make that _multiple_ 'somebody's.

All the members of New Directions jumped out from their hiding places: Finn, Sam, and Puck popped up like life-size Jack-in-the-Boxes from their spot behind the couch; Tina and Mike sprang from one side of the stage while Kurt and Mercedes appeared from the other; Artie rolled out from behind the recliner; Brittany and Santana popped out from either side of the fridge.

And there was Quinn through it all, a few feet before her, _click_ing her camera and capturing picture after picture of Rachel's various stages of shocked faces.

Rachel stared at everyone grinning at her, high on the adrenaline-rush of a fun prank pulled off right, staring at her out of brightened eyes and waving at her and some even striking 'arms-stretched-through-the-air, manic-smiles' poses of 'ha-ha-GOTCHA!'

Quinn stood in the middle of the chaos: her girlfriend and her best friend, beaming this mega-watt beam as her hazel eyes soaked in Rachel's reaction and skilled finger captured these moments for eternity.

Quinn lowered her camera and stared at Rachel's floundering mouth and wide eyes. "So?" she said, voice rising in pitch. "What do you think?"

Overcome with dozens of glorious emotions and too overwhelmed to speak, Rachel did the only thing she could do when faced with such intense joy and surprise.

She burst into tears.

Her hands flew up to cover her face as loud cries gushed out and shoulders shook.

At first, everyone was too horrified by the reaction to do anything. Uncomfortable and guilty looks passed around the group, unsure how they'd managed to offend Rachel. But not Quinn.

Quinn kept her eyes glued to Rachel, heart sinking with disappointment. She'd made her girlfriend _cry _on her _birthday_. Oh God, Quinn was the worst girlfriend ever!

But then Rachel peeled her hands away from her face, and everyone saw that she was _smiling_, this giant and bright smile that shone from her eyes, which they realized sparkled with tears of _joy_. And Rachel was running over to Quinn, flinging her arms around her, and crushing their bodies together into a hug.

The group breathed a sigh of relief, while Quinn struggled to breathe at all; Rachel was hugging her tight enough to dig her camera into her ribs and cut off her oxygen. Quinn's grin returned, heart dusted itself off and lifted back up, and arms encircled Rachel's waist, squeezing the diminutive girl just as firmly.

Giddiness swelled up through Rachel before bursting into giggles from her beaming mouth. She drew her neck back and jumped on her tiptoes, about to crash her lips onto Quinn's, about to blow their cover, but remembered just in time that they were in public.

So, instead, she smacked a jaunty kiss onto Quinn's cheek (eliciting several "_awwwww!_"s from the room, and bringing a blush to Quinn's face) before pulling away so she could take in all of her fellow Glee Clubbers.

All of her _friends_.

"Hey, guys!" she said, drunk from how giggly and happy she was. "You're all here for little ol' _me?_" She jumped up and down a few times, hands clasped together in front of her.

And you could call it an early Christmas miracle or maybe just growing up, but the fact of the matter is this:

When they saw how cheerful Rachel was in that moment, gaping at them in grateful awe – as if they'd done something far more than just go to her party – everyone's hearts grew three sizes that day.

* * *

The rest of the party flew by in bursts of laughter, lots of vegan pizza and soda, and too many smiles to count.

And through it all, Rachel and Quinn barely separated, as if tethered together by an invisible chord at the hip. They gravitated to each other when the other was across the room, ate off each other's plates, shared eye-rolls and secret smiles when one of their friends did something stupid.

Puck tried to sneak a beer from the fridge, resulting in a quick but harsh scolding from Rachel, followed by a smack upside the head from Quinn for "doing something to jeopardize Rachel's party not being _perfect_, you moron!"

They sang karaoke: Santana and Brittany did a high-energy duet of 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' by Cyndi Lauper that had everybody dancing and clapping along. The opening act was Rachel singing a Barbra Streisand song (to raucous applause afterward) and the grand finale was Rachel again, this time singing 'Party in the USA' by Miley Cyrus, just because it was her birthday and she could get away with it (and actually, everyone – besides Finn and Puck – got just as into it as they had with Britt and San).

Throughout the party, Rachel went on and on to Quinn about how much she loved the Broadway-themed decorations, especially the 'A STAR IS BORN' photo montage of pictures of Rachel from back when she was a newborn (provided by her dads) to pictures taken just last week (taken by Quinn).

They played games that Quinn had coordinated and even assigned prizes for:

There was Pin the Microphone on Barbra Streisand, where Artie won a pint of his favorite soda, but many said was unfair due to how his wheelchair height provided the exact angle needed.

There was Count How Many Jelly Beans Are In This Jar (yeah, the on-the-nose title could use some work), which Kurt won and thus got to keep the (492) jelly beans.

And there was Extreme Dance-Off – tied by Mike and Brittany, so they had to split the plate of chocolate-chip cookies Quinn had baked (and then split again, as Mike shared his with Tina, and Brittany gave some of hers to both Artie _and _Santana).

Rachel loved every gift she received, though she secretly favored the pajama pants from Victoria's Secret from Santana and Brittany (pale pink with white paw prints all over), the gorgeous pink sweater from Kurt, and the Bedazzled microphone from Mercedes.

And finally, there was the cake.

It proved to be a delicious success: Quinn had baked it herself, vanilla with white icing (Rachel's favorite) and hundreds of sprinkles in varying shades of pink. There were edible gold stars on it and, in wobbly letters, dark pink icing that read: HAPPY 17TH BDAY, RACH!

Quinn snapped pictures as they all sang 'happy birthday' to an eating-up-the-attention Rachel (honoring their Glee Club roots by harmonizing the song in a way that was worthy of the Top 40 charts).

And as Rachel blew out the seventeen little pink candles and everybody cheered and clapped, her gaze latched onto Quinn's soft smile, and she closed her eyes to make a wish.

But the funny thing was, as the smoke from the candles curled against her chin and a content smile curled against her lips, she realized she didn't have anything she could possibly wish for.

Tonight, all her dreams had come true.

* * *

Much later, hours after everyone but Rachel and Quinn had gone home, the two girls convened in Rachel's bedroom.

Night had fallen, dropping the temperature as precipitation froze outside into snow droplets. Though the heater was turned up to a toasty level within the house, there was a distinct chill occasionally coursing through the air, sneaking through windowpanes and under door cracks.

They lay on their stomachs atop Rachel's Queen-sized bed, heads facing one another, sock-covered feet kicking in the air behind them.

Rachel's hair was still back in its fancy French-braid; Quinn's was still up in its elegant ponytail with the gold headband.

Rachel wore the new pajama pants Brittany and Santana had bought her; Quinn wore a pair of green-and-red plaid flannels.

And for their tops, they each wore the matching reindeer sweaters Rachel had gotten them for Christmas/Hanukkah last year.

"I can't thank you enough, Quinn," Rachel said, prompting the girl to look up from the news magazine she was reading.

"Don't mention it," Quinn said with a delighted grin.

"No, really," Rachel insisted. "I know you won't brag on yourself, but my dads told me all about how _you_ put the whole, entire thing together. You made my birthday one-thousand-percent perfect; one that I will never forget."

Rachel widened her eyes and smiled softly. It was a shy, Bambi-eyes smile that sent Quinn's heart melting into goo. "You did all that for _me_," she said.

And Quinn smiled back, that soft smile and those vulnerably glowing eyes that only Rachel could elicit. "Well… Yeah," she said with a small, breathless laugh. "You deserve all that and more, Dimples."

Rachel lifted her hand to cradle the side of Quinn's face; the blonde's eyes closed as she leaned into the warm touch. "I have the best girlfriend in the world," Rachel said.

"Hey now," Quinn said, eyes fluttering back open to lock with Rachel's. "_I'm _the one with the best girlfriend in the world."

Unable to resist her, Rachel's eyes squeezed shut with emotion as she leaned in and captured those perfect lips with her own. She brought her other hand up to the other side of Quinn's face, effectively capturing the girl's head between the palms of her hands, fingers caressing up and down that smooth skin and never wanting to break away.

Quinn raised her own hands to cup Rachel's chin, pulling the girl closer, pulling those lips deeper into hers. Mouths parted as tongues snuck entrance, massaging one another's to a languid rhythm.

Eventually, they had to catch their breath; their pulses raced and pupils dilated with need as they came back together, rolling onto their sides.

Quinn's magazine crinkled beneath her elbow as their mouths pressed and tugged together, lips swelling from the slow suction. By the time they had to separate again, Rachel's head spun the room into a blur as giddy dizziness stole giggles from her blissfully aching chest. Quinn turned onto her back, stupid grin all over her face as she stared at the ceiling, fingertips floating up to stroke her tingling lips, already wanting Rachel's attached to hers again and again.

"You better get me copies of all those thousands of pictures you took tonight," Rachel said. "Forever my Shutterbug, always shuttering away with your camera."

"Oh!" Quinn bolted upright. "That reminds me!" She swung herself off Rachel's bed and headed to the other side of the room, where her overnight bag lay.

Laughing at Quinn's random outburst, Rachel sat up, elbows resting on her knees. "Where's the fire?"

"Between my legs," Quinn joked with a wink, earning her a hearty laugh (and a blush) from Rachel.

"I forgot to give you your present," Quinn said, unzipping her bag and pulling out a hot pink gift bag with light pink tissue paper sticking out. "I didn't want to give it to you in front of everybody else, because it's too sentimental."

Rachel's jaw dropped as her eyes widened. "_What?_" she gasped. "Quinn, you are _seriously_ outdoing yourself! You organize an entire surprise party for me; you decorate for and provide games for said party; _and _you baked me a delicious and adorable cake. And now you tell me that you actually went out and bought me something, too?"

Quinn stood up with the present and ran back to Rachel's bed, jumping across from her and sitting up on her legs like a dog begging for a treat. A proud grin beamed from her face as she dangled the gift bag from one finger.

Rachel shook her head, eyes still wide with delightful surprise. "How am I supposed to compete with you?"

"Dating isn't a competition, silly!" Quinn rolled her eyes playfully, but Rachel's compliment only made her grin stretch impossibly further. "I had your gift picked out long before I organized the surprise party, and you don't celebrate Christmas – besides your reindeer sweater, of course – so it's now or never."

Rachel snatched the gift bag from Quinn and released a squeal that was debatably human. She ripped out the tissue paper and plunged her hand inside, coming out with two bottles packaged together.

"_Awwww!_ 'Luscious Lavender' and 'Very Vanilla' shampoo and body wash!" Rachel did a little upper-body happy dance. "You didn't!"

"I did," Quinn chuckled, eyes incredibly bright at Rachel's adorable reaction. "But maybe more for self-serving purposes than you think."

Rachel laughed. "You really love how I smell, huh?"

"You betcha!" Quinn said, smiling as Rachel placed the bottles onto her bed.

"Thank you so much, Quinn," Rachel said, "Honestly, I just can't thank you enough!"

"There's actually one more thing left."

"_Really?!_"

Quinn guffawed at Rachel's kid-set-free-in-a-candy-store expression. "Yep!"

Tongue poking the side of her mouth in the cutest display of concentration Quinn had ever seen, Rachel stuck her hands into the bag and pulled out the final present.

She gaped down at the small stuffed animal, which fit perfectly within the cradle of her hands. It was a dark red ladybug with big black spots and short, beautiful wings of an iridescent material.

Quinn chewed on her lower lip as she absorbed Rachel's reaction; she was curiously silent, but a tender smile settled upon her lips.

"Do you like it?" Quinn asked, suddenly feeling nervous. "I know it _looks _like a ladybug, but it's technically a 'shutterbug' now, because I said so." She gave a little anxious laugh and licked her lips, wondering why Rachel had become so quiet. "Now every night, you can cuddle with it, and know that I'm right there protecting you. And whenever you get up in the morning, uhm, you'll wake up and know that your 'little Shutterbug' watched over you." Her cheeks pigmented, wondering if this had been a stupid idea.

But then Rachel looked up at Quinn, and she saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Quinn's lips parted and brow drew together, wondering what was wrong, but before she could voice her concerns, Rachel spoke first.

"It's… It's _perfect_," Rachel said, heart fluttering up and down with quickly beating wings. She blinked and the tears of purest, most sentimental emotion splashed down her warm cheeks.

"_You're _perfect," Rachel cuddled the ladybug – no, the _shutterbug _– against her chest, eyes locked meaningfully with Quinn's softening ones. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

"You're welcome," Quinn blushed again, but this time with surety and pleasure and so much affection for the tiny, wonderful girl before her.

They came together in a tight, warm embrace, Rachel's head nuzzling Quinn's shoulder as Quinn's head nuzzled the top of Rachel's.

And snuggled against two hearts thumping to the same beautiful rhythm was the shutterbug between their chests.

* * *

An hour later, after eating more birthday cake and trying to wipe frosting on each other's noses like a pair of five-year-olds, the girls reconvened in Rachel's bedroom.

Well, _Quinn _reconvened in the bedroom while Rachel went to tell her dads a final goodnight.

Quinn spread her sleeping bag out on the floor, wishing like she always did when she and Rachel spent the night that they could sleep in the same bed. It didn't seem fair that, back when they had just been best friends and hadn't taken that fateful first kiss yet, they'd been able to sleep with each other every time they spent the night (which, like now, was pretty much every weekend).

She could still remember how torturous it had been to share a bed with the girl she had a massive crush on, only inches away but seeming so far, so close yet unable to touch.

When they'd started going out, she'd been exuberant with the idea of _finally _being able to draw Rachel against her below the covers, snuggling into her side and holding her, just holding her so tenderly and innocently, all through the night.

But Leroy and Hiram had a strict policy against the two girls sleeping together. They said that if Quinn were a boy, there was no way in _hell _they would let Rachel sleep in the same bed as her boyfriend at this age, so why should they make exceptions just because Quinn was a girl? They said they trusted Rachel and Quinn, but they didn't want to put the girls through "unnecessary temptation" especially "when they were still so young."

_Okay, no biggie, _Quinn had thought, _Rachel_ _and I can just sleep together at _my_ house._

But _nope_, Rachel's dads had made her promise not to sleep in the same bed/sleeping bag/whatever as Quinn when she went to her house, and since Rachel was a good and obedient daughter, she brought a sleeping bag to Quinn's or took the guest bedroom.

So, every night they spent together, they would complain from their different sleeping posts about how much they wished they were lying next to one another.

Usually, Quinn or Rachel would put their sleeping bag right next to the other's bed, and the other girl would sleep right at the edge, so they could reach together and fall asleep holding hands.

Quinn was so lost in her thoughts and straightening out her sleeping bag that she gave a little jump when a dramatic voice cleared itself. Her eyes zipped over to the doorway.

Rachel pressed her lips together to ward off a mischievous, secretive smile; her dimples came out to play, making Quinn's heart stall for a second.

"Guess what," Rachel said, swaying back and forth with her hands cupped at her waist.

"What?"

"My dads said you can sleep in my bed with me tonight, 'cause it's my birthday," Rachel said, tone struggling for joking nonchalance but eyes betraying her with how thrilled she really was. "We have to keep the door open halfway so they can check-up on us throughout the night, but they said, if we don't betray their trust, then maybe we can sleep in the same bed from now on!" She gave up on trying to act cool, full-out squealing by the end.

"Oh my God!" Quinn jumped up and ran over to Rachel, tackling her in a spinning hug. "YAY!"

Rachel burst into giggles, kissing Quinn's face from forehead to chin, cheek to cheek, atop that perfectly straight slope of a nose. Quinn melted each time those full lips brushed over her skin, goosebumps popping up to imitate Rachel's quick, delectable trail.

Rachel flipped off the overhead light but kept on the fan; the room was still lit, but by the hot-pink-flower-shaped lamp on her nightstand.

Linking hands, the girls headed to Rachel's bed, leaving the door half-open. They got under the thick flower-print duvet and the sleek white sheets, scooted back against the pillows, and welcomed the feel of unchartered coolness of the bed against them. Quinn took the left side; Rachel, the right.

On Rachel's side was the nightstand with the aforementioned lamp, Lady Shutter (as she'd decided to call the ladybug/"shutterbug" stuffed animal), and a framed photograph of a beautifully laughing Quinn. Rachel would always smile at that picture before turning her lamp off at night and smile at it again in the morning when it was bathed by her window's sunlight. She couldn't believe her luck that she had the real thing to smile to tonight and in the morning. Now she had Quinn _right beside her, right here, in her bed_.

"We should probably take our hair down," Quinn pointed out, unable to keep a dopey grin off her face.

Being around Rachel was like being drunk on happiness all the time. She really should come with her own warning label. 'CAUTION: DATING THIS PETITE BRUNETTE DIVA HAS SIDE-EFFECTS OF CHRONIC SMILING, HEART PALPITATIONS, AND FLUTTERY STOMACH. ALSO: WATCH OUT FOR HER DURING TICKLE-FIGHTS – SHE'S A KICKER.'

"You're right," Rachel said, pulling out her hair tie and beginning to unweave her locks with clumsy fingers.

Quinn pulled out her own hair tie, slid off her headband, and shook out her shoulder-length blonde locks, already done by the time Rachel was just getting started. She noticed Rachel's fingers getting tangled in her braid and smiled with amused affection.

"Here," she said, batting Rachel's hands away so she could take over with her own. In no time, Quinn had unwoven the braid with nimble but gentle fingers. Rachel's eyes shut at the relaxing sensation of Quinn stroking through her hair.

"There! All done," Quinn chirped, far too soon for Rachel's liking, dropping her hands into her lap.

"Thanks," Rachel smiled, shifting up on her elbow and turning her head to look at Quinn.

Both girls' breath was stolen from their lungs when burning hazel met glowing brown.

Rachel stared at Quinn, at how thickly her hair flowed around her, a tamed version of a lioness' mane. They'd both already taken their make-up off, and with the way Quinn's golden-white hair tumbled to the shoulders of her reindeer sweater like that, she looked younger and delicate. Rachel remembered the first time she'd ever seen Quinn, and how she'd been reminded of the fragile beauty of porcelain dolls.

Quinn stared at Rachel, at how her dark-brown hair was textured from the braid, falling to those small shoulders in a waterfall of luscious, silky waves. Her natural eyelashes were still so incredibly long and curled, blinking up from those wide eyes like a fawn.

A tiny little smile tugged at Quinn's lips. "Hi," she breathed, reaching out a fingertip to stroke from Rachel's temple down to her chin. She wanted – no, _needed_ – to memorize this moment forever.

Rachel's eyes fluttered closed at the touch, opening again as a gentle smile of her own appeared. "Hi," she said, so quietly, as if afraid speaking any louder would shatter the magic flowing between them.

They leaned in for a lingering kiss, chaste and innocent yet passionate and perfect.

"Wanna go to sleep now?" Quinn asked, a lazy smile spreading up one corner of her mouth. Her eyes were at half-mast, blinking sleepily though she wasn't the least bit tired.

"If it means you holding me in your arms, then yes," Rachel gave a small giggle and a wide, close-lipped smile, dimples popping upon those baby-apple cheeks.

Rachel turned onto her left side, and Quinn rolled to follow suit. Rachel flicked off the lamp and grabbed Lady Shutter from her nightstand and settled the stuffed animal against her chest. The room plunged into darkness for a moment before waxing moonlight spilled through the gap of her window curtains, providing just enough dim lighting.

Quinn tucked one arm under Rachel's middle and draped the other over her shoulders, her fingers intertwining at Rachel's risen right shoulder, effectively locking her between her arms.

"Goodnight, Dimples."

"Goodnight, Shutterbug."

It felt amazing for Quinn to hold this girl close to her, tucked against her chest.

And it felt amazing for Rachel to _be _heldby her, slender arms wrapping around in a cocoon of safety and protection.

Their hearts pounded faster, chests filled with the beautifully aching lightness that can only come from true bliss. Toasty warmth spread all over them, and not just from their merging body heat.

Never having felt so relaxed in her life, Rachel's eyes closed as she used one arm to snuggle with Lady Shutter and her other arm to loop through Quinn's and pull her in even tighter. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets, cotton cuddling with flannel.

It was perfect.

That word gets thrown around a lot: 'Perfect.' Like the word 'love,' it's used so much that the impact has dulled; the meaning feels lost behind the typical hyperbole with which it is paired.

But nestled together, keeping each other warm on a cold winter's night, with Quinn inhaling the lavender-vanilla of Rachel and Rachel absorbing the natural 'pretty' essence of Quinn, it _was _perfect, in every sense of the word.

Quinn breathed deeply through her nose, chest shuddering in this delicious way, and cuddled up against Rachel as if the girl were her favorite life-sized stuffed animal. Tears threatened to fill her eyes; they poked at the back of her eyelids, tightened her throat. But they were _beautiful_ tears, the kind that arrive when everything you could have ever wanted has come true. The kind of tears that come from being so certain and happy with where you are in life, but with an underlying sense of dormant terror at what it would be like if it was all taken away.

She would never let it be taken away, she promised herself in that moment. She would cling to Rachel forever like she clung to her now, no matter what toils or troubles flew her way. This girl, this tiny little dramatic brunette, she was made to fit into the curve of Quinn's crescent-shaped body, nuzzled together under the covers.

Rachel felt Quinn's breath puffing from her nostrils and onto the top of her head; she listened as it grew steadier, slower, softer. Rachel kept opening her eyes, afraid that _this _was the dream, and if she drifted off here, it would trigger her waking up in the real world, to a bed by herself. Because nothing in reality could be this spectacular. No _one _in reality could be as spectacular as her Shutterbug, her Quinnie, her best friend and girlfriend and protector, all wrapped up into one. And Rachel was wrapped up in her arms.

And it was just… She sighed dreamily, a contented little smile playing at the corners of her lips. It was everything she'd ever wished for when she was little, praying for that epic love from movies and storybooks.

She realized, right then and there, that she was in love with Quinn.

It didn't come to her as a shoot-upward-in-bed epiphany. It wasn't like a bolt of lightning striking her with 'DUH!' It wasn't a knee-jerk realization.

No, it was something that was a long time coming since befriending her. It was something that started simmering when they first kissed, started hissing and boiling and popping when they were on their first date, and had now reached its final roaring, everlasting heat. It was falling all this time and finally landing on both feet at the destination she knew she would hit from the beginning.

It was the swell of her heart, the warmth coating inside her stomach, and the way this girl brought out her smiles, her laughter, and made her feel complete, like she'd been missing something and had finally found it after years and years of searching.

She was in love with Quinn Fabray, surer than the sun rising in the morning, than the flowers blooming in the spring. It was an inevitable of life, as natural to her as breathing.

Rachel licked her lips, warm tears of overwhelming joy and _love _for this girl brimming in her eyes and splashing down her cheeks, landing onto the background of her sweater.

"Quinn?" she whispered, kissing the girls' hands, still joined at her own shoulder. "I love you."

There was no response but the deep, rhythmic puffs of air from Quinn's nostrils.

Rachel smiled to herself, a few more tears spilling over, seeming to cleanse away any impurity she'd ever had. "Best birthday ever," she whispered to Lady Shutter, kissing the stuffed animal atop its cottony head before shutting her own eyes and drifting off to the most peaceful sleep of her life, a gentle smile still hugging her lips.

* * *

Quinn woke up and saw nothing but white pillow and the back of a luscious brunette head.

Immediately, a tender smile slipped up her cheeks. She kissed the still-wavy hair before her, letting lavender-vanilla float up her nostrils and further awaken her senses.

The air was chilly, but she was warm here, under the covers with her snugglebug of a girlfriend's back still curled into her front. They hadn't seemed to move all that much last night, a far cry from Quinn's usual tossing and turning. Her arms had gone slack around Rachel, and one of them had fallen asleep.

Carefully, so as not to rouse her own Sleeping Beauty, Quinn snuck her arm out from under Rachel and winced at the pins-and-needles exploding through its nerves. She rolled over onto her back and massaged feeling back into her left arm with her right hand.

Beside her, Rachel stirred, still asleep but rolling instinctively onto her back, and then onto her right side, facing Quinn. Her arm flopped over, landing atop the covers on Quinn's lap.

As her arm woke up and started returning to its normal state, Quinn watched Rachel sleep for a few minutes. She wasn't trying to be creepy or anything, but if she was being creepy, then okay, she could live with that. Being creepy was worth it if it meant she got to stare at her absolutely adorable girlfriend, looking like a little angel as she snoozed.

Dark-brown bangs split into uneven chunks across her forehead. Her hair was mussed on top like a bird's nest and tumbled to her shoulder, frizzed from the cold air. Her face was slackened as she slept, smooth and pure, a raindrop on a rose. She looked at least two years younger, the picture of innocence with her mouth slightly parted and her nose occasionally twitching with the smallest of snores.

She had never been more beautiful.

Quinn wanted to take care of her. She wanted to caress her cheek with the back of her hand, kiss her forehead, and tuck the covers all around her. She wanted to keep her safe from the cruel world, from growing older and learning life lessons the hard way. She wanted to cuddle into her side and fall back asleep, resting with her for however long it took until it was safe to come out.

Instead, she settled for using the gentlest of fingertips to smooth those bangs to the side and keep a section from falling into her eye. She tucked the swath of soft hair behind Rachel's ear, letting her fingers linger for just a second or two. She smiled a tender smile down at her and, unable to resist, brushed a kiss to her cheek.

Rachel made a confused noise, eyes fluttering slowly open before focusing on Quinn's gazing down at her.

"Good morning," Rachel murmured, lazy smile stealing up her face.

"Good morning, Sleepy Head," Quinn grinned, taking Rachel's hand in hers and rubbing her thumb across the knuckles. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log. You?"

"Same."

"I very much want to kiss you right now," said Rachel, voice adorably gravelly with sleep, "But morning breath and all that may spoil the sentimentality."

"You're such a romantic," Quinn joked, rolling her eyes upward with a smirk. She lifted Rachel's hand to her lips and pecked each knuckle with a tickling kiss; Rachel giggled, face lighting up and energy spilling into her system.

"I'm going to remedy this problem," Quinn said, squeezing Rachel's smaller hand before releasing it, "By brushing my teeth."

She swung out of bed and headed for the private bathroom connected to Rachel's room.

Rachel stretched, yawned, patted Lady Shutter on the head, and rolled off the opposite end of the bed. She shivered at the cool air, warded off the sudden goosebumps from her arms with a few brisk rubs, and walked over to her window.

She pulled open the pink-and-orange curtains and gasped at the sight of her backyard. "Oh my God, Quinn! Come look at this!"

"What?" Quinn ran over to stand beside her. Her jaw dropped when she saw the bright white, winter wonderland before them.

"It snowed?" She whipped wide eyes to Rachel, who nodded with excited confirmation.

"It snowed!" Quinn exclaimed, throwing her arms around Rachel's waist and lifting her off the ground, twirling her around the room in a dancing-hug.

Rachel laughed and laughed, legs tucking up to make the momentum faster, and pecked a cheerful kiss to Quinn's cheek she set her back down.

"You know what this calls for!" Rachel squealed, running to her bathroom to take care of her morning dental routine.

"What?" Quinn asked, skipping after her and giggling at the beauty of this morning. The beauty of Rachel. The beauty of _life_.

"When my dads get up, they can start a fire for us, and we can roast marshmallows and make s'mores and sing Christmas carols!" Rachel said.

"Sounds fantastic," Quinn said, grabbing the toothbrush she kept at Rachel's house.

They went about brushing their teeth, which was a bit difficult to do when they kept looking at each other and grinning, and would giggle and point at the other's foaming mouth.

After that was taken care of, they combed their hair, stuffed their feet into their slippers (Rachel's looked like two giant, fluffy white bunnies with floppy ears; Quinn's were a furry baby blue with glitter streaked through them), and headed out of Rachel's bedroom, hand-in-hand.

They checked Rachel's dads' room and saw that the bed was already made but the two men weren't in sight. "They're up," Rachel said, "Probably downstairs making breakfast or something."

The girlfriends pranced down the long staircase, deposited onto the living room, where they found Hiram and Leroy sitting on the couch, each nursing a cup of steaming coffee.

"'Morning, ladies," Leroy greeted, his booming voice subdued from the early hour. "Did you see outside yet?" He looked at their intertwined hands and smiled to himself, nestling closer to his husband and thinking about what a blessed family they were.

"Oh yeah!" Rachel beamed. "It's _snowing!_"

"We can make snowmen later," Quinn suggested to Rachel, eyes bright at the idea.

She would take pictures of their masterpiece, and of Rachel making snow-angels in the ground, and of Leroy and Hiram participating in a snowball fight. God, she loved winter! She loved Rachel's birthday, and Christmas Eve, and Christmas _Day_, and New Year's Eve, and, and… Really, December was just the best month.

"I think you mean snow_women_," Rachel said. "Where's your sense of feminism, huh, Quinn?" She nudged the taller girl's hip with her own.

"Oh, excuse me," Quinn rolled her eyes and bumped Rachel's hip right back. "Snow_women_, of course."

"Hey now!" said Hiram. "How about 'snow_people_,' eh? Egalitarian is the way to go!"

Leroy mock-groaned. "Babe, it's too early to be tossing out your six-syllable words."

"Well, we know where Rachel gets it from," Quinn teased, making Rachel stick her out tongue at her.

Hiram followed suit and stuck his tongue at Leroy.

"And we know where Hiram gets his vast maturity from," Leroy deadpanned, rolling his eyes before caving and planting a kiss to his husband's cheek (at the same time that Quinn happened to kiss Rachel on hers). "I'll tell you girls what – I'll let the Rachel Birthday Festivities carry on into today for a bit; I'll get a fire started in the fireplace, and Hiram, you can make them some hot cocoa."

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand and yanked her into her side, reaching over to slip her other arm around that slender waist. Quinn spanked Rachel's rump, eliciting a scandalized "hey!" from Rachel and a snicker from herself.

"Hiram?" Quinn called as the short, bespectacled man started walking to the kitchen. "Would you please put those mini-marshmallows and whipped cream in my hot chocolate?"

"Don't push your luck, Fabray," he joked, firing off a wink.

"Me too, Papa!" Rachel said. "With cinnamon sprinkled on top!"

"Yeah, yeah," Hiram said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Leroy tossed the logs into the mantel, lit some matches, and kindled a fire to life. Flames licked upward, chasing thick trails of black smoke pluming up the chimney.

About ten minutes later, the girls were left by themselves before the fireplace with colorful mugs of hot chocolate as husband-and-husband went upstairs to watch TV in their bedroom.

Quinn had retrieved her camera from Rachel's room while their drinks were being made, and now she snapped a picture of the roaring fire.

She loved the way red-orange-yellow danced with passion, so beautiful yet so dangerous; she captured the perfect shot of it, the flames caressing right over the section of stone in the back of the mantle that had 'BERRY' carved through it, lighting up the letters with new life.

She set her camera down and sipped from her hot cocoa, eyes falling to Rachel, who was spearing a thin rod with a marshmallow.

"_The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful,_" Rachel sang, voice even brighter and more passionate than the fire. Quinn's eyes closed for a minute, soaking in the heat from the fireplace and the flawless beauty of Rachel's singing, _"And since we've no place to go: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!_"

Quinn opened her eyes again, and let her blinks capture each moment of Rachel to memory like a camera's shutter captured each photo.

There she was in all her glory: Dorky, dark green sweater with a big reindeer head on it, red, blue, and yellow Christmas light bulbs dangling from its antlers.

Wearing those Victoria's Secret pajama pants and bunny slippers that clashed terribly with said sweater.

Singing Christmas carols, and smiling to herself, and leaning in to roast a chubby marshmallow, all the while with a bit of whipped cream unknowingly smeared right at the tip of that glorious, exotic nose.

And just like that, Quinn knew.

She was head-over-heels in love with this girl.

And again, just like that, she knew that, really, she'd known all along.

Back at the first day of sophomore year, when Rachel jumped out from her locker and turned Quinn's world upside-down with a cheesy smile and a simple "Hi!"

Back when Quinn spent the night at Rachel's for the first time and slept in the same bed as her, unable to fall asleep because her heart kept pounding right out of its chest every time Rachel shifted and accidentally brushed their hands together.

Back when they had that magical first kiss that made Quinn feel truly alive for the first time.

Back when Rachel so sweetly and romantically planned their first date: the long drive, and the tearoom, and the slow-dancing to a dreamy voice with lyrics that matched how Quinn felt with Rachel in her arms.

And back when, just last night, she slept with Rachel beneath the covers and couldn't imagine her life without this girl: her other half that corresponded and contrasted with her in all the best ways.

She watched as Rachel pulled the marshmallow from the fire and blew off the white-blue flame smoking at the end. Rachel grinned in victory at the crispy brownness encompassing the fluffy white below; Quinn looked at that ooey-gooey marshmallow and, when returning her eyes to Rachel's triumphant beam, she knew just how it felt.

"Yummy, yummy, yummy," Rachel said, turning toward her. Her eyes widened and grin fell away at Quinn's expression.

Quinn had never looked at her like that before: eyes tender and big and vulnerable, the firelight reflecting through the irises to send bright green and flecks of gold and swirls of amber igniting with a sincerity that took her breath away. And the way she was smiling, so softly, lips just barely quirked up… Rachel almost dropped the marshmallow rod onto the carpet, unable to tear her gaze away.

"I love you," Quinn said.

This time, the rod _did _slip from Rachel's fingers, landing onto the red brick of the mantel. Fireflies danced in her own amber-brown eyes, lighting her up from within; the gentlest but most meaningful of smiles curved into those dimpled, rosy cheeks.

"I love you, too," she said, scooting forward at the same time Quinn did.

She slipped her hands alongside Quinn's face, never breaking eye-contact, seeming to stare straight into each other's very soul. Quinn placed her hands on Rachel's shoulders, and the girls leaned in, sharing a deep, beautiful kiss that melted their hearts like that marshmallow, but also reinvigorated every drop of blood coursing through their veins with more heat and strength and power than the fire beside them.

And with those shared words, that shared sentiment, this shared _love_, their two hearts merged together as one, and from then on, would always beat to the same perfect rhythm.

It was everything they'd ever wanted, ever wished for, blazing straight to forever through a flawless kiss.

"Hey, Rach?"

"Yes?"

"You've got some whipped cream on your nose."


	9. Present - 5

**Chapter Nine**

_**Present - Interview & Photography**_

The walk to the elevator carried the most awkward, heaviest silence on its shoulders that either girl had ever fallen victim to in their lives.

Quinn pushed the button and waited for the doors to pop open. As sneakily as she could, she checked out Rachel's profile, saw that she was staring pointedly straight ahead.

Rachel counted the number of times her heart thudded hard against her chest.

_One…_

She felt Quinn's eyes, running the length of her, from face to body to back up again.

_Two_…

She heard a gulp, maybe her own, maybe Quinn's.

_Three_…

Quinn shifted her weight to her other foot and stared ahead now, at the elevators, her arms crossing over her chest.

_Four_…

Rachel just barely turned her head, let her eyes take in Quinn's profile: one bright green eye, one perfect nose, the corner of an unsmiling mouth.

_Fivesixseven…_

She quickly averted her eyes.

_Ping!_ The elevator doors pulled open.

"Thank God," Quinn muttered to herself, barely loud enough for Rachel to hear. She strode inside first, Rachel following. They stood at opposite ends of the elevator.

Quinn hit the button for the top floor, watched the doors seal closed again, trapping her inside with her ex-girlfriend and the sound of said ex-girlfriend tapping her foot against the floor to an impatient rhythm.

"The, um, the…" Quinn cursed herself, cleared her throat. "The interview will take place in the biggest suite. _Hot News_ will be paying for it. That's okay with you, right?"

"Sure." Rachel pressed her lips together, ran her hands over her skirt. "If it weren't, I wouldn't be here, _right?_" She threw pointed eyebrows Quinn's way when she mocked the last word.

Quinn pursed her mouth and turned away, arms circling tighter around her pounding chest.

The longest elevator ride in the entire history of the world ticked upward, until _finally_ depositing them on the top floor. Rachel was the first off, her hips sashaying with almost angry force as she did so, and Quinn had to stop herself from staring at her ass. _Ugh!_

She followed after Rachel, then was the one in front, leading the way to the room at the far end of the hall. After swiping the key card through the slot, the light on the knob flashed green, and Quinn swung the door open.

"After you," she said with as polite a smile as possible despite the heavy tension.

Rachel ignored her and strode inside, not stopping until she'd reached the far side of the fancy hotel room. It had two big white couches, facing each other. A big TV. A mini-bar. Fancy wallpaper with fancier paintings hung in fancy frames. A set of French glass doors leading out onto a magnificent balcony patio. The view of the City skyline was spectacular, the curtains of the giant windows pulled back, showing it off.

Rachel whistled to herself. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Quinn closed the door and walked into the room, surveying the impressive settings. "Yeah, this is nice."

As far as Rachel was concerned, the faster they got this over with, the better. Brushing out the back of her skirt so it wouldn't ride up, she sat down on one of the plush white couches, straightened her posture, and folded her hands in her lap.

"Okay, do you want to interview me first, or photograph me first?"

Suddenly nervous – well, more nervous than before – with butterflies tickling her stomach, Quinn sat down on a cushion on the couch across from Rachel. She held her shoulders back, mirroring the girl's prim-and-proper, cool demeanor, but crossed her legs and leaned back, trying for an air of relaxation.

"Whichever one you prefer, I guess."

Rachel smirked oh-so-sweetly, head cocking. "You _guess?_ Isn't this _your_ job?"

Quinn's nostrils flared before she could stop them. Her shoulders tightened, muscles coiling all down her back. "Yes," the word squeezed out, clipped and straining not to show emotion. "But I wanted to ask your permission, out of respect."

Rachel chuckled under her breath, the sound dry and mocking. "Okay then. _Respect_. Sure." She knew she was being petty and immature, but she couldn't stop it; all of her pent-up rage at Quinn over the years was surfacing, and it felt damn _good_ to lash out at her. "Fine, interview me first. Whatever; I don't care. Just get it over with."

Her tone was so bossy and self-righteous and _rude _that Quinn couldn't help it; her muscles snapped forward, elbows shooting onto her knees, and she glared at Rachel. "Okay, you know what? If you could drop the attitude for just, like, _five minutes_, then maybe we could actually make this somewhat enjoyable."

Rachel glared right back at her. "Oh, I sincerely doubt that, _Quinn_."

"Look, I want to be here about as badly as you do. We're both here because of our careers, so let's be professional about it. I _know_ that you hate me, okay?" Suddenly, she couldn't look Rachel in the eyes; instead, she stared at her lap, hating how shivery and alone she felt. "I _know_ that. You don't have to keep reminding me through sassy words and mean tones." She raised her eyes back to Rachel's and was surprised to find that she now wore an unreadable expression. "You're an actress, right? So, _act_. _Pretend_ like you don't dislike me, or like I'm some random interviewer you've never met before. Or, for God's sake, the next couple of hours are going to be hell for both of us."

Rachel hated how right Quinn was. Hated how much conviction burned in her words, with how _practical_ she could be about this. Where was her passion? Why was she so logical, almost callously so? How _dare_ she not be as much of an emotional wreck over this as Rachel!

Still, she knew that she would come across as a fool – or, worse, still hung up on her – if she didn't drop the indignity now that Quinn had called her out on it.

So, sighing, Rachel nodded a few times and stroked the ends of her hair. When she spoke, she sounded tired, exhausted. "Fine. I'll play nice. Now, can you just start the interview already?"

Quinn pulled out a tape recorder from her purse, turned it on, and set it on the glass coffee table between them. She also pulled out a notepad and a pen, to jot down the most important things just in case she lost the tape later.

"All right." Quinn clicked the pen, lifted it to a blank page, and took a steadying breath.

And Rachel, her heart sinking to her navel, watched her. Here was Quinn, all grown-up. A true reporter now. No longer pretending. This was the real deal. Quinn had gone out and made it happen for herself. And Rachel had missed it. She should have been there along the way. She should have _been_ there. But she was here now, late for the party, and here was Quinn, more beautiful than ever and older and more mature and acting so _logical_.

At that moment, Rachel just really, _really_ wanted to be back home with Jesse. But, like a good girl, she gulped away the lump forming in her throat and blinked at Quinn, struggling to remain as indifferent as possible.

"So," Quinn said in her most professional tone, "Miss Berry – "

"No." The word jumped from Rachel's lips; her head shook back and forth.

Quinn's brow pulled together. "What?"

"Don't call me that. It's…it's…" Rachel's fingers quivered as they smoothed out her unwrinkled skirt. "It's _bullshit_. We know each other, Quinn. Call me Rachel. Anything else is an insult."

Quinn nodded, breaking eye-contact for a moment. "Okay. Yeah, of course. So, um, _Rachel_."

"Yes?"

"Tell me about your play."

"It's called _Moonlight Only Shines in the Winter_."

Quinn couldn't help it; she cracked a smirk. "Fancy."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "You mean _pretentious_." And, damn it, now she was smirking, too.

"No, I mean…well…yeah." Quinn shrugged one shoulder, one corner of her mouth drifting upward. "No offense."

"I didn't name it," Rachel shrugged with both shoulders, but neither corner of her mouth budged. "But, yeah, and don't quote me on calling it 'pretentious.'"

"Already forgotten. So, tell me, what is the play about?"

"It's about two characters, named Billy and Betty, who are from very different lifestyles. Betty, whom I play, is naïve and kind and dreams of owning her own ice cream parlor one day; Billy is dangerous, a rebel, and caught up in some bad things, but when he meets Betty, he wants to change his self to be worthy of her.

"They meet at an ice cream parlor – did I mention that it's set in the '50's? – , and it's love at first sight. But it's more of a star-crossed lovers tale than a happy one. Romance, drama, even a bit of mystery – it's got it all. It might sound…um…" Rachel struggled to find the right word to describe it. "Okay, maybe a bit _cheesy_, but I assure you, it's not. The dialogue is snappy, the songs are _amazing_, and the set design makes you feel like you're in a real town and not just on a stage."

Quinn's pen flew across the page. A small smile played at her lips. Rachel sounded so passionate and _proud_. And Quinn, even though she didn't have a right to be, found herself growing prouder and prouder of her. Her dreams were coming true, just like Quinn's. Somehow, for some reason, the universe had thrown them back together, at this moment in their lives, on the brink of exploding careers. Quinn was just thankful that she was here, now, in some capacity able to see them unfolding, even if it was as a third-party.

"That sounds really interesting, actually." Quinn looked up to find Rachel watching her, chewing on the corner of her lower lip.

"It is," Rachel insisted. "You would like it, Qu – um, I mean, the humorous parts in it are quite hilarious."

Quinn felt her heart rise – and then plummet – when Rachel started to address her but then changed her mind. "So, what attracted you to the role of Betty?"

"Maybe the fact that it _is_ a role," Rachel joked, and Quinn smiled in amusement. Rachel wanted to scowl at her, for it was unfair for Quinn to smile like that, so lovely, but she found herself smiling back instead, just a little bit.

"No, but, I mean…Betty is a very sweet and sincere girl. I don't want to spoil the ending for you or the readers, but…well, let's just say, she does something _very_ selfless near the end of the play. That sort of self-sacrifice, and how she saw past Billy's rough exterior when no one else would, it made me respect her. And her complex relationship with her father, who wants her to become a doctor rather than an ice-cream-store-owner, is beautifully written."

As the interview rolled on, each girl found their breaths coming easier to them, heart rates dropping to normal, and the tension slowly but surely melting from their shoulders and the air around them. It still wasn't a _friendly_ vibe, but it eventually grew to no longer be hostile.

"How did you get this role? What was the auditioning process like?"

"My junior year of college, I was Maria in _West Side Story_, and Fletcher van Houser – the director – came and saw it. He'd been a student at Tisch ten years ago. He approached me and Je – and, uh, and the guy who played Tony, and he asked us if we'd like to audition for the lead roles in a play he'd just finished writing. So, we did. And now, a year and a half of workshops and a revolving door of fellow cast members besides me and 'Billy' later, here I am."

"Wait, you were in _West Side Story_?!"

"…Yes."

"Congratulations; I know you've always wanted to play Maria." A big, proud grin.

"Well, that was over a year ago, but…thanks." A small, almost shy, smile.

"So, who is your leading man? The boy who was in _West Side Story_ with you and now in _Moonlight Only Shines in the Winter_." Quinn lifted her eyebrows, face aglow with curiosity.

Rachel…hesitated.

_This_, the grand reveal, had been the Ace she'd been holding against her chest the whole time. From the moment she first saw Quinn today, she had been anticipating the moment she could rub this in her face. But now, after they'd loosened up a little, after Rachel had found herself enjoying having her first real interview (despite who was _doing_ the interview), she found herself dreading to answer.

"It's…Jesse," she said, carefully, watching as curiosity twisted into confusion.

"_Jesse…_?" Quinn stared at her, waiting for a last name, but then understanding dawned on her, and her face fell, even as her eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh. You mean…"

"Jesse St. James," Rachel lifted her chin, licked her lips.

"You're still friends with him?" It was almost a groan.

"Not a very _professional_ question," Rachel snapped.

"Right, right, sorry." Quinn blushed scarlet, and Rachel...well, she might have found it just a _little_ bit endearing. "I mean, okay. Well, yeah. That's awesome. Okay. Yeah!"

Rachel couldn't help but to smile in amusement at Quinn so desperately trying to act gung-ho with the idea, even as she looked hit over the head with the news.

Quinn cleared her throat, grip tightening around her pen. She waited a moment to speak, collecting herself. "So, starring with each other in so many plays, you must have a close relationship..."

"I believe that's the kind of question they call _leading_." Now Rachel's close-lipped, gloating smile stretched high up to her ears. _Look who's winning the breakup now!_

"No, I just mean…" Quinn's stare laser-beamed a hole into her journal, doodling random loops in the margin. "Okay then, what's your relationship like with Mr. James?"

Rachel couldn't resist. "We're engaged."

Quinn's eyes shot up, latching wide and horrified onto Rachel's dead-serious expression. And with it, Rachel felt her next breath catch in her chest. Quinn didn't…care? Did she? _Could_ she, after what she'd done? After how she'd _left_ her?

"I was just kidding," Rachel said. "Don't write that down. We're not really engaged."

Quinn's brow lowered, face hardened. "Then why would you – ?"

"It's called a _joke_."

_No, _Quinn thought bitterly, _'Jokes' are actually funny_. Instead, she said, "Oh…right."

Strangely, impossibly, Rachel felt almost _guilty_. Quinn was nibbling on the inside of her lip, and her pen had been moving back and forth over the same area of the page for too long.

So, she decided to throw the pouting girl a bone, to play nice. "Jesse sends his regards."

It backfired on her.

"Oh, I bet he does," Quinn snorted.

"No, he _does_," Rachel said, choosing to leave out the part where Jesse had called Quinn 'a bitch,' 'despicable,' and had voiced disappointment that she hadn't gotten fat – and that was just this morning.

"Okay." Quinn shrugged. "Moving on."

But Rachel wasn't going to let this go. "You don't have to hate him, you know."

"Who says I hate him?"

"You do. Or, did. Back when…" Rachel scratched at her nose, even though it didn't itch. She let the rest of the sentence hang there, unsaid but so damn _loud_.

"Yeah, well, that was three years ago," Quinn doodled in the margin so hard that the pen broke through to the page underneath.

"So, you don't hate him anymore?"

"Is he still a conceited, pompous asshole?"

"Quinn!" For some reason, the emotion sparking there, even if it was a reprimand, made Quinn's heart flutter. It was the first time Rachel had said her name as if she were familiar, even _comfortable_, with it, rather than scared of it. "Why would you say that?"

_Um, maybe because it's true? _Quinn finally looked Rachel in the eye again. "_I'm_ the one who's supposed to be asking the questions here."

"Jesse is a good guy." For some reason, it was important to Rachel to make Quinn understand. "He's my best friend, like a brother to me. You should cut him some slack."

Quinn felt a twisting, deep in her gut, like a rusty knife. 'Best friend.' She remembered a time, what felt like thousands of years ago, when Rachel had called _her_ that, among other things, actually paired with an affectionate tone unlike now, in the scolding one she used. She remembered a time when Rachel had stuck up for Quinn the way she was sticking up for Jesse.

An ugly emotion roared inside of her, and she realized, with a horrible jolt to her system, that it was _jealousy_.

_Oh God, no, please. I can't be jealous!_

"Okay." The word was so weak, though the pain in Quinn's eyes was so strong. It took Rachel aback. That was the second time that Quinn had shown something that made Rachel think she still _cared_ about her. Most frightening of all, thinking that Quinn might care for her made Rachel feel something long-subdued stirring under her heart.

Happiness.

"Okay!" Quinn said again, peppier, and now she wore a mask of a smile. "I think that concludes the interview portion. Thanks, Rachel, I got some good stuff."

"Sure." Rachel licked her lips, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a small, silver hoop earring. Silver hoop earrings with tiny little drops of turquoise hanging from them. They shone, caught Quinn's eye, and made her stomach turn.

"You don't wear your gold star earrings anymore?" she asked, trying to be as casual as possible.

Rachel lifted her eyebrows and, as if challenging her, pushed her hair back behind the other ear, too. The earrings shone on full display, framing either side of her face, lovely and simple and elegant and making Quinn feel that ugly green monster return.

"I wear these now," Rachel said, widening her eyes oh-so-innocently. "_Not_ that it's any of your concern. But, well, they're my good luck charms. So." She shrugged.

Quinn turned off the tape recorder and put it, her notepad, and her pen back into her purse. She pulled out one of the newsmagazine's digital cameras; she much preferred film photography, the kind where you had to use a dark room to manually develop your photos, but as these photos were meant for an online article, the digital camera was the way to go.

She decided to push the whole earring debacle aside. "All right." She stood up and smiled at Rachel, maybe just a little bit bashfully (and maybe it made Rachel feel just a little bit warm inside). "Are you ready for your close-up?"

Rachel stood up, clasped her hands in front of her. "Just don't forget to focus on my left side." She couldn't help but to smile, and though it was tentative, it was the first genuine, _warm_ smile of the morning.

Quinn grinned back, flashing her teeth, equal parts surprised and delighted by Rachel's old joke. "As if I could _ever_ forget _that_."

And then, something amazing happened: They both giggled. And it was sincere and shy and, beneath it all, _happy_. They almost couldn't believe they'd heard it leave the other girl's lips. They _definitely_ couldn't believe they'd heard it leave their own.

"Where do you want me first?" Rachel asked, teeth biting at her mouth, nails biting at her palms.

"How about…" Quinn's eyes narrowed, taking on that photographer's thirst for the perfect lighting, angle, and setting. They landed on a stool behind the mini bar. "Wait right here." She slung the strap of the camera around her neck so she could walk over to the stool, pick it up, and carry it over to the middle of the room, positioning it halfway between two paintings: one of a sunset, one of a sunrise.

"Okay, come sit on this stool," Quinn said.

Rachel raised her eyebrows, tilted her head, but it was more playfully teasing than actually offended.

Quinn rolled her eyes, smiling a small smile. "_Please_."

"Well, since you asked so nicely!" Rachel chirped, striding over to the stool. She sat down on it, draping her miniskirt over her knees, posture straightening. She was usually shorter than Quinn, but sitting on this stool, she found herself suddenly, without warning, eye-to-eye with her.

Both girls gulped; Quinn stumbled backward, just a bit. "Um. Okay. Yeah, great."

"So, how do you want me to pose?"

Quinn closed her eyes, envisioning the perfect shot. It came to her, unfolding in her mind's eye, and she smiled at the vividness of a memory that had yet to happen.

"I have an idea." Quinn started walking to the balcony. "Stay right there." She paused. "_Please_."

Rachel chuckled at that; Quinn bit back a smile that was a bit too joyful to be comfortable.

She unlatched the balcony door and swung it open, letting a fresh wave of sunlight spill directly onto Rachel, like nature's own spotlight. The sounds of New York life wafted in from outside: honking horns, the cusses and yells of one cab driver to another, a baby crying somewhere, somebody laughing. It careened over their ears before blending in, everything one big, fussy white-noise.

Quinn turned back to Rachel; her breath tightened in her chest. The way the sun lit up Rachel's soft skin, made her amber-brown eyes glisten, cast shadows across her cheekbones from her long eyelashes – she was beautiful. She was stunning. She was _Rachel_.

Pushing the awe aside, – and the ache to her heart that came with it – Quinn tried to view Rachel with an unbiased eye. Yes, the girl was gorgeous, with the sunlight playing up the lighter tints in her dark hair, but there was something missing. Dressed all in black made the girl look chic, sure, but there wasn't that _pop_.

Quinn tapped her finger to her chin, thinking.

And Rachel tried her hardest not to squirm under her gaze. Quinn stood five feet away, but she felt as close as five centimeters. Rachel wondered what she saw when she looked at her, if she even recognized her after three years of distance in every sense of the word. She wondered if Quinn _approved_ (and it shook her, just for a second, to her very core, how she found herself wishing, _yearning_ that she did).

"I know what you need."

"What?" Rachel's throat felt dry. She uncrossed her legs, crossed them again.

"Do you trust me?"

The question hung between them, innocence shattered with subtext, years and years of subtext.

Quinn wished at once that she hadn't asked it. She almost cringed, scared of what she'd find. Her heart thudded thickly in her chest.

Their eyes didn't waver, and so many other questions and accusations and _fears_ shot through in the space between.

The words made the dryness intensify in Rachel's throat. She thought of her dads, of glasses of water. She could really use one right now, of either. She knew Quinn was just referring to if she trusted her judgment on the photo shoot, but Rachel found she couldn't answer her.

So, instead, she broke eye-contact. That was the only answer she could give.

Quinn licked her lips, an uncomfortable heat spreading over the back of her neck. She decided to pretend like that slap of awkwardness had _not_ just happened. "I have a great idea." She went to her purse, rummaged around in it, bending over to the couch.

Rachel's eyes fell onto her ass. And stayed there. Dragged down to her legs. Back up, slowly, lingering.

When Quinn had found what she was looking for and started turning back around, Rachel was so startled at almost getting caught, that she jerked to look somewhere, anywhere else, and almost tipped out of the stool in the process.

"Whoa there!" Quinn's brow jumped together. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, fine. Fine." Rachel righted herself, willed away a blush.

Quinn held up what she'd gotten, waved it around.

Rachel quirked one eyebrow. "Lipstick?"

"Not just any lipstick, but a bold, daring, _red_ lipstick."

Rachel looked at Quinn's mouth, then immediately regretted it when she flashbacked to all the places that mouth had _been_. There was no use fighting back the blush this time: it sprang up, all over her. "Um… Is that the same shade as the kind you're wearing today?"

"Yes, it is!" Quinn brightened, pleased Rachel had noticed.

"So, you've already used it?"

Quinn made a teasing face. "What, are you afraid you'll catch my cooties?" The question slipped out, gone before she could get it back, testing the waters when there were still sharks swimming around.

But, surprisingly, it didn't make Rachel bristle or fly up her walls again. Instead, she actually laughed, and it was the sweetest sound, music to Quinn's ears.

"So what if I am?" Rachel posed a challenging purse of her lips, arms crossing in front of her.

Were they…_joking around_ with each other? Borderline, impossibly, _flirting?_

Quinn's head swam at the possibility: Did she want them to be?

"Ha-ha, I would be nice to the person who's responsible for taking _flattering_ photos of you." Quinn walked toward her, uncapping the lipstick and twisting it up to reveal the redness within. "I might _accidentally_ focus more on your right side than your left."

"You wouldn't dare!" Rachel feigned outrage, but a smile of utmost mirth tugged at her lips.

"Try me." Quinn cocked a single eyebrow, and the action was so familiar HBIC Quinn that Rachel felt overwhelmed with a fresh wave of nostalgia.

Quinn saw it hit her, saw her eyes dimming, drifting off. She hurried forward and said, "Okay, can I put this on you?"

Rachel blinked. "Um… Yes. Sure. Just don't get any on my teeth."

"Wasn't planning on it, but now that you mention it, that would be an interesting look. Very 'trendsetter' of you."

"Yeah, if I was trendsetting for a group of hillbillies."

Quinn stood only a foot away now, smiling at Rachel's joke, at how the mood was almost, just shy of, _comfortable_ between them. Almost, kind of, _easy_, like it used to be. She almost wished Rachel were still being hostile; she could feel suppressed affection starting to trickle up from within the core of her being.

She could feel it, stirring, all those feelings she'd told herself she'd left behind three years ago. It was probably just the nostalgia though, not _real_; nobody kept a torch for someone for three years. Still, it would be easier if it _wasn't_ easy between them right now, because it would just make it harder to say goodbye again.

"Okay, Miss Comedian, hold your mouth still so I can put some lipstick on you."

Gulping back a sudden rush of nerves, Rachel closed her eyes, softly parted her lips, and waited.

Quinn, her stomach diving, rising, diving again, stepped forward, sealing that distance, and slipped a hand alongside Rachel's smooth, soft cheek to steady her balance.

It was the first time they'd touched in three years. The crushing handshake from earlier hadn't counted, not really. The first touch: the lightest of pressure, so innocent – and yet it slammed through them, every nerve-ending coming alive.

Quinn's hand was soft, warm, dry, steady, and sure. It was everything Rachel remembered Quinn being, back in the beginning. She felt that feeling returning to her throat, that raw tightness. She _really_ could use a glass of water right now.

And Quinn, she paused, lipstick in her other hand halfway to Rachel's lips. Plump, soft, full lips. Lips that had sung to her, laughed with her, _kissed_ on her. The hand gripping her lipstick started to shake, started to gather beads of sweat within the palm, slipping the tube around.

She inhaled to clear her head and caught a whiff of Rachel, all lavender-vanilla. And with it, memories roared over her, so many that they weren't images in her mind so much as pure _feeling_. Quinn shook her head to snap herself out of it and then, finally, lowered the lipstick to Rachel's bottom lip, running it from corner to corner, slow and gentle. It felt like silk to Rachel, gliding softness over her mouth.

Rachel smelled Quinn, that natural 'pretty' scent she'd always loved so much, and it made her lightheaded. She flashbacked to another time when Quinn had applied red lipstick on her, a time of matching red dresses and giant smiles and trophies. A time of Nationals, of high school ending, of new beginnings just around the corner.

And as Quinn finished the bottom lip and moved on to the top, guiding beneath the Cupid's bow, Rachel's eyes fluttered open. She watched the way Quinn applied the color, eyes not budging from her hand's careful movements, and underneath that one-note determination, she saw the same bittersweet nostalgia burning in her, too.

Quinn remembered. Just like Rachel.

Finally, Quinn finished. "Okay," she said, barely a whisper, and yet the sound startled Rachel, so loud in the sacred silence that had blanketed over them. "Now, smack your lips together."

Rachel obeyed, then ran her tongue over her teeth to make sure it hadn't smudged on them.

Quinn stepped back, surveyed her handiwork, and smiled. There was so much fondness in that smile, such tenderness in her eyes, that for a moment Rachel forgot to breathe.

"Perfect," Quinn said, capping the lipstick and tossing it back to her purse, where it landed inside. "That looks…" _gorgeous_ "…really good on you. It's the perfect pop of color." She moved forward again, making Rachel flinch, chest constricting at the closeness. Quinn pretended not to notice as she started touching Rachel, realizing too late that she hadn't asked her permission first. But she wasn't being rude or inappropriate or anything, _right?_ She was just placing her subject for the photograph.

Quinn arranged all of Rachel's hair to fall over her left shoulder, in a tapered, glistening curtain. She helped angle Rachel, to where her torso and legs were shifted one way, toward the wall, but her neck and eyes were aimed at the balcony (as promised, capitalizing on her left side). It made her face and neck awash in light, the rest of her body shadowed. She folded Rachel's hands together in her lap and told her to cross her legs at the ankle rather than the thigh.

Rachel followed instructions, trying not to have a flashback each time Quinn touched her, each time her breathy-sweet voice entered her ears, each time she smelled that trademark "pretty" smell. She anchored herself to the room the best she could, desperate not to slip away and get lost in yesteryear.

Finally, Quinn was done posing Rachel. (She kind of wished she weren't.) She stepped back a few paces, lifted the camera's viewfinder to her eye, and turned it on.

"Okay, now, lift your chin. A little more. No, now a little less… Right there! Perfect. Don't pout your mouth; relax it, natural. Hold your shoulders back but without tension. Yeah, like that. Perfect. Okay. Now, look outside, and try to convey both fierceness and wistfulness in your eyes."

She snapped a few photos. "Yes, awesome! You're doing great! Just like that! Now, close your eyes but let your lips drift upward, softly, like you're sharing a secret smile, just with yourself. Yes, yes, Rachel, that's it! Perfect!"

Quinn came alive behind the lens; there was a time when Rachel was her favorite subject, her _only_ subject. With the camera eating the girl up, frame loving every shot of her, it rushed back over Quinn, so forcefully that, for a second or two, she stopped clicking and just stared at Rachel. She blinked her eyes, committed the girl to memory, every inch of her. She needed to memorize this. The last time she would see Rachel in person. Suddenly, it was important to her, in ways she couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Why did you stop?" Rachel asked, starting to open her eyes and look at Quinn, who quickly said, "Wait, no, sorry. Keep your eyes open, and…look right at me, into the lens. Now, smile with your eyes, but not with your lips. Yes, like that, and lower your chin just a _fraction_…yes. Hold it…" She zoomed in, a perfect close-up of her face, and with a _click_, captured the moment.

The image popped onto the screen, saving itself to the memory drive; Quinn stared at it, at how mysterious and interesting and beautiful Rachel looked. But also vulnerable. Strong, yet hiding something. Quinn resisted the urge to trace a finger over it.

"Okay. Now how about some pictures out on the balcony, with you leaning half on the ledge, gazing out at your New York surroundings?" she said. "And then some of you leaning against the wall, laughing?"

"Sure, sounds good to me." Rachel hopped down from the stool. "You're really good at this. I had forgotten how natural photography is for you. Like how singing is for me."

"Thank you." Quinn smiled, letting the compliment sink through her soul, and pretended to be busy adjusting the settings on her camera. "I'm so good at photography that someone once gave me a nickname because of it." She pulled her eyes up, latching onto Rachel's, her own still wearing a gentle smile.

And Rachel found her chest _squeezing_. A feeling both happy and sad crashed over her. "It wouldn't happen to be 'Shutterbug,' would it?"

Quinn found her smile turning heavier at the edges. "Yes, I believe that was it."

Rachel smiled with just half her mouth, and her eyes glowed with what could have been tears, had she not blinked them back in time. "Well, whoever it was, they sound very wise…and pretty."

"Yes," Quinn bit down on her lower lip. "On both accounts."

Rachel's eyes widened, and this time, anger flashed through them. She had expected Quinn to laugh at that, not freaking _agree_ with her! Where did she get off, agreeing with that, calling Rachel 'pretty'? Where did she get off with these mind games?

Quinn watched the change happen, watched as Rachel hardened before her, hostility flaring.

"So, uh, how about that balcony shot?" she asked quickly, giving a weak, apologetic smile.

Rachel rolled her lips together, just freaking _stared_ at Quinn for a few pounding seconds, and then nodded. "Okay." She figured she only had thirty minutes to an hour left with Quinn, for good. She might as well be nice until it was over. She might as well enjoy these last minutes, while she had them.

But it felt almost unreal, as if she could already feel this turning into the past, yet another memory to add to the ghost Quinn had become to her.


	10. Past - 5a

**Chapter Ten**

**_April 2011 – 11__th__ Grade_**

**PART ONE**

"Can you believe prom is next month?" Rachel asked, plopping down in the chair of the choir room that practically had her name on it by now: front row, center.

Quinn looked up beside her from the book she was reading. "Hello to you, too," she said, lips automatically jumping into a smile as soon as her gaze met Rachel's. "I thought we agreed not to go to prom."

She looked both ways to make sure no one was eavesdropping before adding in a whisper: "You know, since it's not like we can actually go together."

"What if we went just as friends?" Rachel whispered, raising her eyebrows.

"You mean to tell me," Quinn leaned in close to the brunette, so tantalizingly close – she dug her palm onto a toned thigh for balance while husking her voice right into Rachel's ear, both of which sent a shiver all down Rachel's back, "You'd rather go to some stupid high school dance instead of spend all night at my place, having your way with me?" The last words were so quiet, saturated with such promise and desire, that now Rachel had a shiver rocketing in a much _different_ location.

Quinn pulled away before anyone noticed how her breasts were pressing into Rachel's arm, or how her hand was starting to grow a mind of its own and drift farther up that bare thigh to the short hemline of Rachel's skirt.

Both girls folded their hands in their lips, hearts racing as they were so wont to do now anytime they shared increasingly intimate proximity, and eye-sexed each other from their peripheral vision. Delicious little smirks played at their mouths from the thrill of their secret. Seven months of dating, and their clueless classmates still hadn't caught on.

"You're right," Rachel said from the side of her mouth. "That certainly beats a 'stupid high school dance.' But… prom is a rite of passage, you know?"

The rest of the Glee Clubbers filed into the choir room and took their usual seats. They offered smiles that were more or less friendly with Quinn and Rachel but didn't stop to exchange pleasantries.

The relationship between everyone and Rachel had sweetened after her surprise party, but they weren't all best friends or anything. They still had a fair amount of arguments, and Rachel still occasionally lapsed into Diva Mode. Still, it was a lot better than it had been at the beginning of the year or, God forbid, how it was _last_ year.

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but their teacher beat her to it.

"Okay, guys!" Mr. Schuester clapped his hands together. "To start things off, our very own Artie has something he'd like to say."

Artie rolled to the front of the room, with Mike and Sam on either side. Mike carried his blue plastic chair with him and set it down a foot away from Artie, facing it toward the risers where everybody sat.

"If I could please have a Miss Brittany Pierce over here?" Artie called with a mischievous smirk, shooting finger-pistols at the chair.

"_Oooohhhh_," everyone giggled as Brittany stood up and skipped to the front of the room to sit on the chair. She smoothed out her flip-y red cheerleading skirt before doing so and straightened her high pony, a fresh blush to her freckled cheeks and an excited grin pulling at her mouth.

Rachel and Quinn swapped small, knowing smiles and hooked their index fingers together between their chairs, which were scooted closer than anyone else's.

"This song is dedicated to my girlfriend," Artie said, wheeling up beside her and firing off a wink. "My incredible, my indescribable, my _hot-t-t _girlfriend."

Brittany batted a hand through the air and pulled a face, like 'Who? _Me?_' Joking catcalls and whistles responded from the crowd, along with a single 'yo go, girl!' shouted from Tina.

Artie took one of Brittany's hands in both of his, looked into her eyes, and launched into the song. Most people cringed in confusion that it was Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" (from a muttering Mercedes: "Uh, isn't that song about a baby?") but the rhythm and tempo fit Artie's vocal style perfectly, and the lyrics _were_ sweet.

Mike and Sam provided background vocals and swayed behind Artie, who basically just stayed stationary the whole time, holding Brittany's hand and singing to her like she was the only one in the room.

But for some reason, Brittany kept fidgeting and sneaking glances over to the back of the risers, nibbling on her lower lip as her grin grew a bit forced toward the end. Artie's unwavering attention pressed on, even when Brittany's tightening smile grew flat-out uncomfortable.

Puck, Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina waved their cell phones in the air like lighters; Finn tried not to fall asleep; and Mr. Schue watched with a dreamy expression on his face, as if he were remembering his own serenade to a high school girlfriend.

When the song was over, Artie rubbed his hands against Brittany's, so fast that he accidentally burned her soft skin with the friction of his leather gloves; Brittany tried not to wince too much, but ended up jerking her hand away so as to free it from Artie's overenthusiastic grip.

"So, Britt," Artie said, beaming obliviously, "Will you go to prom with me?"

There was a second – not even a full second, really, more like half of one – where Brittany's big, blue eyes darted to the back of the choir room again before returning to Artie's bespectacled face. A beat passed, Brittany gulped, a big smile plastered across her face, and she said: "Yes."

Everyone cheered and clapped as Artie grabbed Brittany's cheeks and planted a smacking kiss onto her lips, pushing away from her and pumping his fists in the air before she even had a chance to return the kiss.

Quinn was turning to Rachel to ask if she'd noticed how weird Brittany was acting, when footsteps were heard stomping down the risers.

A few seconds later, Santana passed by the front row, head held high and ponytail swishing to the same pendulum of her confident hips. "I'm going to the bathroom," she said over her shoulder, not bothering to look to Mr. Schue for approval, and pushed through the door out into the hallway.

There was something in the way she'd angled her face away from everyone, and the way her hands had been balled into fists at her sides, that made Quinn's stomach sink with realization. She flashed back to Rachel's surprise birthday party, when she was sure she'd discovered she and Santana weren't so different after all.

Quinn hopped to her feet, index finger tightening around Rachel's, beckoning the girl to follow (which she did, tossing a confused glance at Quinn's profile). "Rach and I have to use the restroom, too," she said to Mr. Schuester.

His brow knitted together and he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Um, together? And can't you at least wait until Santana gets back?"

Quinn knew her foolproof response to that; it was the one thing male teachers wouldn't bother questioning. Girls could use this as an excuse to get out of _anything_. She could walk up, punch him in the nose, blame it on this, and _he _would be the one to turn apologetic.

"It's that time of the month," she said.

Mr. Schue's eyes widened with horrified understanding.

_Bingo, _Quinn thought, and beside her, Rachel tried to hide a snicker, nodding with grave seriousness.

"Oh, okay! Well, in that case, uh, take your time," he said.

Puck giggled, Tina winced in sympathy, and Finn whispered to Kurt, "_What_ time of the month?" which prompted Kurt to just gape at Finn and shake his head slowly.

Quinn and Rachel unhooked their fingers before striding out of the room together, taking their purses with them to make it more believable.

Once they'd entered the hallway and the choir room door clanged shut behind them, Rachel took the opportunity to slip her hand inside of Quinn's. Immediately, Quinn curled her fingers around Rachel's.

"Why are we _really _going to the ladies' room?" Rachel asked as they approached the door with the sign of a female shape wearing a dress on it.

"Because Santana practically ran from the room right after Artie finished serenading Brittany," Quinn said, pausing to shoot Rachel a meaningful look.

"So?"

Quinn huffed and searched for the right words.

She'd never told Rachel her suspicions about Santana's true sexual orientation. That was nobody's business but Santana's, and Quinn didn't even have proof. She knew that if she were in Santana's position, she would hate for people to be gossiping and speculating over if she were secretly in love with her best friend, a _female_, no less.

Still, she'd brought Rachel with her for a reason, so she may as well tip the girl off before they went in. "And you don't think it's weird how Santana seems to hate Artie so much? How it borderlines into _envy_, the way she acts when he's with Brittany?"

Rachel tapped her foot, lips pursing and brow drawing together in deep thought. Then, her eyes popped and mouth fell open as the light bulb lit above her head. "Oh my God, Santana is in love with Artie!"

Quinn face-palmed herself with the hand not holding Rachel's. "No," she sighed. "No, Santana is _not_ in love with Artie, Rachel."

Rachel's mouth came back together, flipped into a frown. "Then what do you… Ohhhhhh, you mean she's in love with _Brittany!_"

"Yes, now say it a little louder; I don't think the whole school heard you," Quinn hissed, shaking her head at Rachel's 'look at me, I can be Nancy Drew!' smirk of triumph.

The smirk soured into a scowl. "I was not that loud!" she insisted, yelling.

Quinn gave Rachel a look, who lifted her chin in response. "Fine," Rachel breathed deeply, "I guess I was a _little_ loud."

"Enough chit-chat," Quinn said, releasing Rachel's hand and lowering her voice. "And don't say anything to Santana at first; just let me do all the talking."

"Bossy," Rachel grumped.

"Now you know how I always feel, Miss Diva Extraordinaire," Quinn said, but she offered Rachel a gentle smile to appease her.

Quinn knocked on the door once before shoving it open. She let Rachel enter first before following and made sure the door was shut all the way behind her.

The two girls stepped all the way into the bathroom, where the row of sinks and mirrors were, but frowned in confusion when they found nobody else in sight.

"Hello?" Quinn called.

There was the sound of someone sniffling and then cursing under their breath.

"Santana?" Quinn asked, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible.

Rachel hunched over and started peeking under the three stalls, stopping when she reached the last one and spotted a pair of feet sporting familiar Nike shoes leading up to lean legs and a Cheerios miniskirt.

_In here, _Rachel mouthed to Quinn, who nodded and waved Rachel back over to her.

"We know you're in here," Rachel said. She'd been able to follow Quinn's 'let me do all the talking' rule for about half a minute before caving; that was okay – Quinn figured she wouldn't even last ten seconds.

"Go away," Santana said. Her voice sounded clogged with tears, nose stuffy and throat scratchy. But the worst part was how weak her command was issued, devoid of its trademark bite and venom.

Quinn hurried over to the bathroom door and jammed a trashcan under the knob to keep out any extra guests. "It's just us," she said, walking back over to her girlfriend, "Quinn and Rachel. No one else can even get in now."

"And we're not leaving until you come out and tell us what's wrong." Rachel folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin, reeking of her typical stubbornness.

Santana heaved a long, irritated sigh before banging her stall door open and marching out. Quinn cringed and Rachel gasped at the sight of her; the always confident girl who exuded sex appeal and an unaffected air looked positively…well, _pathetic_.

Balled up paper towels were crunched in her trembling hands. Her mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, the imprint of her long, black lashes marred across her cheekbones. Pain and misery shone from deep within those dark brown eyes.

"Will you guys just _go?_" she said, but it was more of a plea than anything else. "Get out of here, _now;_ I need my privacy." She threw the soiled paper towels into the trashcan attached to the dispenser before pulling out a clean paper towel and honking her nose in it.

Rachel and Quinn swapped concerned, sympathetic expressions. They stepped toward Santana, hands reaching out to comfort her from either side, but she whipped toward them so fast that they had to take a step back.

"Get the fuck out of here!" she yelled, eyes flashing as fresh tears spilled over. "…_Please_." And it was that 'please,' uttered in the most broken of whispers, that convinced the girls they needed to stay.

"We know what you're going through," Quinn said, ducking her eyes to catch Santana's from her lowered head.

Santana swiped the back of vicious hands across her cheeks, achieving nothing but smearing her blend of mascara and tears even further. She lifted her neck to fix hardened eyes at the blonde and brunette before her. "Like hell you do. You don't know anything about me, and I can promise you have no _idea_ what I'm going through." She swiveled away from them to blow her nose again, tossing the paper towels in the trashcan but not opting for any more this time.

"Why don't you tell us," Rachel suggested, resting her hand on the side of Santana's arm, "and we can try to help you, okay? Let us be your friends, Santana. Don't push away the people that care about you."

Santana shook her hand off and glared at her. "You guys don't give a flying shit about me! Don't pretend otherwise. And I don't need any friends, especially not from two _losers_ like you."

Quinn's nostrils flared. _She's hurting; she's hurting; she's hurting. Remember, she's just lashing out, Quinn_. She had to repeat this to herself to keep from going all HBIC on Santana. She had to look past the spiked mask to the girl hiding behind it, trying to find the aching soul underneath.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering her wits about her before proceeding. "Santana," Quinn said, "You're in love with someone, aren't you?"

Santana opened her mouth to respond, but closed it right away. Her lower lip trembled and she blinked rapidly for a few seconds before regaining her composure. She searched Quinn's eyes and then Rachel's, scrutinizing what she found within hazel and brown; whatever she saw, it made her tense shoulders slump and the guard inside her own eyes start to lower.

"…Maybe," she hedged, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why would you automatically jump to that conclusion, though? There could be a million reasons why I'm crying like an idiot in the restroom."

"Because I've been there before," Quinn said. "I've been you."

"What do you mean?" Santana's brow and nose scrunched up in confusion. "What boy is worthy of the attention of the mighty Quinn Fabray?"

Rachel stared at Quinn intently, wondering how she would respond to that. Wondering (and maybe _hoping_) that Quinn would claim Rachel as her girlfriend right then and there, hoping that they could come out as a couple to at least _one _person in Glee.

Quinn looked back at Rachel and gave her that soft, sweet smile that made Rachel's entire being turn into mush. Then, she shifted confident eyes to Santana and said in a clear voice, "Not a boy, actually. A girl: Rachel."

Santana's eyes bulged. Her heart lurched. Her jaw dropped as her neck jumped from Quinn to Rachel, Quinn to Rachel. She snapped her mouth closed and licked her lips. "You mean…" her voice was husky with some sort of deep emotion. "You guys are…_gay?_" It wasn't disgust or disbelief; it was something else, something more profound. It was… It was _hope_, Rachel and Quinn realized. It was hope.

Quinn nodded at Santana, offering a small, meaningful smile.

Rachel said, "Well, actually, I'm bisexual."

Santana was utterly silent for a good quarter of a minute: then, a sob ripped from her throat as her hands clapped over her face. Her shoulders shook and Quinn and Rachel flanked her either side, rubbing slow circles into her back and brushing fingers through her ponytail and shushing her like a lullaby.

After a few minutes, Santana dried her tears, blew her nose one final time, and straightened up her reflection in the mirror before turning to face her unlikely confidantes.

"I'm in love with Brittany," she said, and it was the most certain they'd ever heard her. She took a deep breath. "I'm…_gay_. And not only am I gay, but I have to be gay for my best friend." She shook her head at herself, eyes rife with self-loathing, and encircled her arms around her middle.

"It's going to be okay," Rachel said, setting a hand on her shoulder. This time, Santana didn't shake it off.

"I've been there," Quinn said. "The whole 'gay and in love with your supposedly heterosexual best friend' thing. Back near the beginning of last year, when Rachel dated Finn? Yeah, that was _torture_ for me."

Rachel frowned and pecked a kiss to the tip of Quinn's nose. "Aw, I'm sorry, baby."

Quinn crinkled her nose beneath her lips and smiled at her with ample adoration.

"God, could you guys please not be so _cute_ right now?" Santana gagged, saying 'cute' the way most people would say 'oozing blemish.'

"Sorry," Quinn said, smile still hanging at her lips. Rachel gave Santana's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"So, you're in love with Brittany," Rachel said. "Does she know?"

Horror flashed in Santana's eyes for a moment as she shook her head back and forth. "Oh, _God no!_ No way. I mean, we, like make-out and do…_other_ _stuff_ together…" Her cheeks colored at this, and once the meaning sunk in with Rachel, she blushed just as brightly.

"But I tell Britt I'm just doing it 'cause I'm bored," Santana said. "I swore her to secrecy. But I swear, sometimes I think she knows that I'm enjoying it a lot more than I let on."

"Do you think she could love you back in that way?" Quinn asked.

Santana sighed this broken little sigh. "I don't know… I've asked her if she would ever date a girl before, and she said she would if it was the right person. I think she's bisexual like you, Rachel. But she's totally into Artie."

Her face darkened when she spoke the boy's name. "He doesn't deserve her! He talks to her like she's a _child! _Like he thinks she's stupid or something, which is just stupid of _him _to think that. And he, he…" She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse and stuttering words; her hands gesticulated wildly through the air, driving her emotions home. "He thinks she's just, like, his fucking trophy to parade around. The only compliment he can give her is how '_hot_' he thinks she is, when Brittany is so much more than just her looks."

Rachel and Quinn shared knowing glances before turning back to the fuming cheerleader. "Looks like you really care about her, huh?" said Quinn.

"No fucking _duh_, blondie," Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Looks like you've got some fight in ya," said Rachel, lifting her eyebrows. "Like you're angry enough to march over to Brittany and tell her _exactly_ why she should pick you over Artie."

Despite herself, a smile yanked up Santana's mouth. Her cheeks tinted again, but this time for an entirely different reason. She quirked an eyebrow at the not-so-secretly scheming girls before her. "I see what you're doing," she said. "You're trying to rile me up so I'll make a move on Brittany."

"Um, yeah." Now it was Quinn's turn to roll her eyes, but in a much more playful manner. "'No fucking _duh_,' honey."

"Language," Rachel chided under her breath.

Quinn smiled apologetically at Rachel before turning back to Santana. "Life is all about taking chances. You can either take a leap, tell Brittany how you feel, and be rewarded with the very real possibility that she loves you back and chooses you over Artie. Or, you spend your entire life wondering 'what if?' It's up to you."

"Really, Santana, what do you have to lose?" Rachel added.

"Everything," Santana said simply. "I have _everything_ to lose. Because what if Brittany _doesn't_ love me back the way I love her? What if she _doesn't _choose me over Artie? It would…" Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment, a tremor rocking through her body. When her eyes peeled back open, they shined with the rawest vulnerability she had ever possessed. "It would _kill_ me. I can't take that risk."

"But by _not_ taking the risk, every day it's already killing you," Quinn pointed out. "Seeing the woman you love with a guy who's all wrong for her and, as you think, treats her like crap. Wondering and agonizing if she maybe _does_ have feelings for you. To the point where you analyze how she smiles at you versus how she smiles at him; you repeat the way she says your name, over and over again in your mind, wondering if it sounds different than how she greeted you the day before."

Santana's mouth parted, eyes widened. "How do you…? Whoa."

"Like I said," Quinn's lips quirked back with empathy, "I've _been_ you before. I know what you're going through, and the only way to end the torturous wondering is to find out once and for all – take that chance. Tell her how you feel, Santana! Because, I promise, the not knowing is worse than rejection."

"Well, apparently you wouldn't know _that_ part firsthand," said Santana, working to keep jealous bitterness out of her tone. "Considering how you got your happy ending and didn't have to face rejection."

Quinn and Rachel smiled softly at each other, but there was sympathetic sadness in their eyes for Santana. "That's true," Rachel said, "But the thing is, you may not get hurt by not telling Brittany how you feel, but you also won't get that possible happy ending either. The choice is up to you."

Santana chewed on her lower lip, mulling everything over. Despite the heavy conversation, she felt so much _lighter_ now after talking this over with Rachel and Quinn. She felt so much less alone, so much less like a doomed freak of nature.

"Thank you, guys," she said. "I know we've had our differences, and I still don't know if we're actually _friends_, but…thank you."

Quinn rolled her eyes playfully. "Excuse me, but uhm, _yes_, we _are _friends now. Sorry, but you can't have a heart-to-heart in the ladies' room and not come out as friends afterward; it's just not how life works."

Santana giggled, a foreign sound of girlishness and happiness. She smiled, eyes soft and bright, and she had never looked prettier. Quinn thought back to her first day of school as a sophomore, to how Santana's smiles had been so fake, and how her attitude had been so vicious, and she had to grin at how much growing up could happen to someone in a year.

"So, you guys aren't going to tell anyone my secret?" Santana asked.

"Of course not!" Rachel said.

"Just don't tell anyone ours, either, okay?" Quinn said. "I'm not ready to come out yet."

"Of course," Santana nodded.

"I'm going to hug you now," Rachel said to her, holding out her arms and smiling.

Santana rolled her eyes, but her own smile stayed in place. "Yeah, yeah, just make it quick."

Giggling, Rachel enveloped Santana in a tight embrace; Santana hesitated before wrapping her arms around the smaller girl's waist, and then Quinn was encircling her arms around _both_ of them, huddled together in a warm group-hug.

"Okay, okay, enough," Santana said, "You're turning me into a giant goober."

In response, the girls hugged her closer, and she had to laugh.

The sound echoed around the bathroom, and the warmth of it blanketed the girls for long after.

* * *

About an hour later, after Glee Club had ended for the day, Rachel and Quinn drove to Quinn's house.

When they pulled up in their separate cars, Rachel grabbed her overnight bag and purse before following Quinn into her home. Judy greeted them with hugs and small talk before the girls excused themselves and headed upstairs to Quinn's bedroom, where they locked the door for precautionary measures and sat down on Quinn's king-sized bed with the silken sheets, rust-colored duvet, and matching canopy hanging from the four cherry-wood posts.

Rachel emitted a content sigh, flopping back into Quinn's mountain of squishy white pillows. A Cheshire-cat-esque grin filled her face; Quinn's bed was one of her favorite places. It smelled like Quinn, it was incredibly soft and comfortable, _and_ it made Rachel feel like royalty when she was in it.

Quinn joined her against the pillows. "Comfy?"

"Incredibly," Rachel said, eyes opening to stare wistfully above her. "Like a cloud." She angled her neck to face Quinn and stared into those captivating hazel eyes instead.

"I can't believe Santana is in love with Brittany," she said, holding out her hand. Without missing a beat, Quinn accepted it, slipping her fingers easily through Rachel's and locking tight.

"I've had my suspicions for a while now."

Rachel swung upward into a sitting position, mirroring Quinn's stance, only her own was far more surprised than relaxed. Brown eyes widened beneath a lifting brow. "What? Really? Since when?"

"Since your birthday party, actually," Quinn said nonchalantly.

"Why didn't you tell me you thought so?"

"Because, if I were in Santana's position – which I actually have been, remember? – I wouldn't want people to be gossiping about my love life, especially without any proof."

Rachel gave their intertwined hands a quick squeeze. "Well, in that case, I'm very proud of your maturity."

Then, excitement flew across her face, melting away the seriousness as she grinned at the beautiful blonde before her.

"What is it?" Quinn laughed at Rachel's sudden transformation. "You look like you're about to tell me you landed a role on Broadway or something."

"No, silly!" Rachel giggled. "I just remembered it's your _birthday _next Wednesday, and I'm wondering what you're going to do. Do you have a big party planned? A small get-together with a few of Glee's elite? Mind, I have some tricks up my _own _sleeve for your special day, but we haven't really talked about how _you _want to plan it."

"Well, since my birthday is on a Wednesday, I was just going to treat it like any normal day." Quinn shrugged. "Birthdays aren't that big of a deal to me, to be honest. My family's never really fretted over them."

Rachel frowned. "What? But… I thought you _loved _birthdays! You went to all that trouble to ensure mine was so amazing."

Quinn fixed Rachel with a soft, meaningful smile that made Rachel's heart give a wonderful lurch.

"Exactly," said Quinn. "Because it was _your_ birthday. For anyone else, including my own, I stand by the notion that it's no big deal."

Unable to help herself, Rachel leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to Quinn's lips. "I love you," Rachel said, "So, _so _much, my love."

"I love you _more_," Quinn said, heart seeping through her toes.

"Impossible!" Rachel said. "Now, I don't care what you say – your birthday is going to be very special, because _you _are very special, and you made _my _birthday very special, so I have to make sure yours is incredible, too."

"_Rach_," Quinn said, "No matter what, it will be incredible. You could literally buy me a paper bag for my birthday, and it would still be the best one ever, because I have you as my girlfriend. You already gave me your love; there's nothing else I could ever want or need."

Rachel flushed with pleasure and smiled her bashful, Bambi-eyes smile. And, of course, Quinn was powerless to not smile back.

"Well, actually, there is _one _thing you could do for me," she added.

"Anything!"

"My dad and sister are coming into town next Saturday for a belated birthday dinner at my house. I want you to come and meet them. Not as my girlfriend, though; just as my best friend."

Rachel's eyes grew larger; a gasp drew sharply in her lungs. "Quinn! Oh my God! It would, I… I…" She took a quick breath to control her excited stuttering. "I would be _honored_ to go as your date for your family dinner, even if I have to be disguised as just your friend."

Quinn beamed at Rachel's reaction, at the idea of her girlfriend finally getting to meet her dad and Frannie, at the idea that she would actually get to _see _her dad and Frannie for the first time since Christmas – at all of it.

"Okay, great!" she said. "You know, you can consider it the biggest acting challenge of your life: pretending like we're nothing more than friends."

"I do that every day at school or when we're around your mom," Rachel pointed out. "I've got this role down pat, so no worries, okay?"

"Okay," Quinn said with a giant, close-lipped smile.

They gazed at each other for a few staggered heartbeats, all thoughts of anything but how much they loved each other vanishing from their minds.

Soon, the loving stare turned to longing, which turned to lust, and then they were leaping together, lips crashing and hands smoothing back each other's hair as legs slipped and slid atop the covers.

They stayed on their sides, fronts smushing breasts and accelerating hearts together. Mouths opened, allowing the other's tongue to come inside for a visit.

Even though they'd been together for seven months now, and even though they'd already professed their love on that one beautiful winter's day, the girls hadn't covered much track on the sexual field.

Quinn was a purist when it came to that sort of thing; she used to believe in waiting for marriage, but now she just believed in waiting for the perfect moment with the perfect someone (Rachel was her perfect someone, obviously, but that perfect moment had yet to arrive). The furthest they'd ever gotten was some over-the-bra fondling.

Rachel respected Quinn's boundaries, and besides, she didn't mind taking it slow, especially when pretty much only kissing each other meant that they were each fucking _wizards _when it came to _how _they kissed each other. Quinn knew just the right way to slide her tongue against Rachel's teeth to make her moan the loudest, whereas Rachel knew the best technique for making Quinn practically explode against her.

And she was executing said technique right now: she lowered her mouth down, latching onto Quinn's bottom lip, and started sucking oh-so-slowly before nibbling her teeth onto it and tugging it back and forth.

Right on cue, Quinn groaned with pleasure, pelvis rocketing forward to expel the tingles shooting inside.

Rachel moaned at the sensation and rolled on top of Quinn, straddling either side of the blonde's waist. She continued to make love to Quinn's lips with her own, her red-and-black miniskirt fanning out around the crotch of Quinn's dark skinny jeans.

Quinn snaked her hands around Rachel's neck, fingers tangling with thick brown hair, and slid both her lips back over Rachel's. She flicked the back of her top teeth with a skillful tongue, tracing until she reached Rachel's upper lip, where she proceeded to stroke her tongue slowly across it.

Rachel groaned into Quinn's mouth, back arching. Quinn took the opportunity to slip her hands down over Rachel's risen breasts, squeezing around their small but perky mounds of ruffled black blouse. She had the sudden, wildest urge to rip open its little pearly buttons with her teeth.

Quinn's fingers turned clumsy in their haste as they started unbuttoning Rachel's shirt. She'd only gotten to the third button, narrow slice of cleavage peeking wondrously into view, when her path was halted by Rachel's hands seizing her own.

Rachel ripped her mouth away from Quinn's, both of theirs swollen from all the intense kissing.

"Wait," she panted, fingers fisting around Quinn's. "I… I…"

"Don't you want this?" Quinn asked, voice huskier than it had ever been. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, and Rachel had to force herself to stare into Quinn's eyes rather than at the siren song of those breasts. "Because I'm ready, Rachel. I… I want this to happen."

Turned out, staring into Quinn's eyes didn't help quell Rachel's arousal; if anything, it added gasoline onto the fire.

They were the most gorgeous they had ever been – fiercest of green burned with molten gold amidst dilated pupils. They screamed desire, love, and readiness. They sucked Rachel in, promising to make her lose all inhibitions, all ability to think rationally or even at all, only able to do one thing – kiss Quinn and touch Quinn and explore Quinn forever and ever, until the whole universe crumbled down around them.

It took a great amount of willpower for Rachel to resist. Far more willpower than she thought she had.

"Believe me," she said, rolling off of Quinn and onto her back, scooting away so that their sides weren't touching. Her sigh was saturated with frustration for so many reasons. "I _do _want this. But…"

Quinn took steadying breaths to make her lightheadedness disappear. She hiked up on her elbows, willed away the incredible feeling that seeped through her body and met between her legs, and turned to face Rachel.

"What's wrong? I thought you were waiting for me to be ready. And now I am. I want you to be my first." She smiled and added, "_Obviously_. We're going to be each other's firsts. And why not have it happen now?" She reached out a hand and curled a finger around silky dark-brown.

Rachel stared down at her hands, which were wringing together. A blush prickled up her neck, spilling bright colors of shame and embarrassment and bashfulness into her face. "Okay, but… Maybe _I'm_ not ready for it to happen now."

Quinn frowned, hating how self-loathing Rachel looked. Hating the shyness of her tone – they were _never _shy with one another.

"Hey," she said, brushing gentle fingertips along Rachel's jaw. "Look at me."

Rachel didn't.

"Babe, come on," Quinn sighed, rife with understanding. "It's just _me_, Dimples. Your _Shutterbug_. I'm not going to judge you. Look at me, sweetie."

Rachel acquiesced, chin lifting until brown latched with green. Warm waves of comfort and security washed over them, eliciting the smallest of smiles upon Rachel's lips and the most accepting upon Quinn's.

"We don't have to take it any further until you're completely ready," Quinn said, eyes and words shining with the same tenderness as the fingertips that continued to caress up and down Rachel's face. "I've been ready for a few weeks, but I didn't feel like there was the right opportunity until just now. There's no pressure here; you took it slow with me, and now I'll take it slow with you."

Rachel chewed on her lower lip. "I want to be with you in that way so badly, Quinn. I dream about it at night, fantasize about it during class."

They shared a gentle, flirtatious smile; Rachel brought her hand to Quinn's cradling her face. She stroked the back of Quinn's fingers before peeling them away so she could curl hers around them and hold their joined hands in her lap.

"Being with you," Rachel said, smile turning dreamy, "especially in such a beautiful way, is never far from my mind." She took a deep breath. "_But_… Look, I just…"

Quinn cocked her head at the vulnerability pouring from Rachel's eyes. The rawness seared right through her, making her heart ache in sympathy. "But what, Rach? You can tell me anything."

"But what if I'm _bad_ at it!" Rachel wailed. "What if it's awkward, and you don't enjoy it, and I mess up? What if it's _painful? _What if we go too far and hurt each other, or don't go far enough and then I'll make our first time bad, and – "

Quinn's head subconsciously shook back and forth throughout Rachel's spiel, gaining vigor with each admission of fear. Her eyes turned steely with purpose as she stopped shaking her head in order to lean in and silence Rachel's mouth with her own. The next word came out muffled against Quinn's lips before she drew them away.

"Rachel," she said, "Stop it. _Please_. I understand where you're coming from, I really do, but I hate seeing you so scared and insecure. It doesn't matter how awkward our first time is, or if we don't go far enough or go too far, or _any _of those things – it will be perfect, no matter _what_, because we'll be _together_."

She watched as Rachel absorbed her encouragement, the hesitation melting from those glowing brown eyes and making way for blooming certainty.

"You can't mess up, because there's nothing _to _mess up; besides, it's not like I'd notice, because I'm just as new to it as you are," Quinn continued. "And you better believe I'll enjoy it; I practically explode each time you just _kiss _me, so don't even waste your time worrying about me in that regard. And, finally, if it starts getting painful, we'll just stop, silly."

Rachel was beginning to smile now, giggling with shaky relief as surety manifested within her eyes.

"There are no rules," Quinn finished, placing her other hand on top of theirs already held in Rachel's lap. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It'll happen when it's meant to happen, and it will be _perfect_, because it's you and me, babe. And _we're_ pretty damn perfect together, if you haven't noticed."

Rachel was full-on grinning by this point. "Oh, I've noticed," she said. "_Trust me,_ I've noticed." She planted a grateful kiss to Quinn's cheek. "Thank you, Shutter. You're amazing."

Quinn pulled a jokingly conceited face. "Eh, I try." She tossed her neck back, letting her hair flip over her shoulders. "And I do succeed."

Rachel chuckled and added her other hand to their pile of woven fingers. "Yes, you do. You really do." Two pairs of hands locked in a pile of skin-to-skin, bone-to-bone, warmth-to-warmth support.

"I love you like crazy," Rachel said, eyes glowing from the inside-out. She nibbled on her lower lip as she looked up at Quinn from her long, curly lashes. "Do you know that?"

"Like crazy, huh?" Quinn's face burst into a sunny grin. "Well, I love _you_ like craz_ier_."

"Craz_iest_," Rachel said, shaking her head close to Quinn's to rub their noses together.

Giggling, they kissed, soft and slow and tender, and then Rachel rolled into Quinn's lap. Quinn turned the TV on and they watched a sweet romantic movie, Quinn playing with Rachel's hair and Rachel absentmindedly stroking her hands along Quinn's knees, needing to touch each other, even in – or especially in – the most innocent of ways.

* * *

On the following Wednesday morning, – the thirteenth of April, to be exact – Quinn arrived at school ten minutes earlier than normal, per request from one of Rachel's many adorable text messages she'd received upon waking up.

Rachel was waiting for her by Quinn's locker; she handed Quinn her favorite drink from The Lima Bean coffee shop, and (after making sure no one was around) brushed the briefest but cheeriest of kisses to her smiling lips.

The latte and kiss would turn out not to be the sweetest things she did for Quinn's birthday.

Rachel decorated the inside of Quinn's locker with streamers, confetti, mini balloons, and cutesy signs.

She hid away with Quinn in the choir room during lunch: she presented her with homemade sugar cookies; serenaded her with The Beatles' "Birthday"; and made-out with her behind the piano, tasting the lingering sweetness from the cookies on each other's lips.

She went out of her way to ensure that Quinn was pampered like a princess – opening doors for her, pulling out her chairs in class, telling anyone and everyone that it was Quinn's seventeenth birthday and not-so-subtly hinting that they wish her a happy one.

And indeed, because of Rachel (and the Glee Clubbers, who cheered for her when she walked into rehearsal and sang her a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday"), Quinn's birthday was her happiest one ever.

Throughout the day, Rachel found herself thinking that, no matter what she did, she still couldn't top what Quinn had done for her on her birthday.

Quinn deserved the absolute _best_ birthday in the entire _world_; Quinn deserved everything she could have ever wanted, and Rachel yearned to give it all to her.

The perfect solution struck her when she was kissing Quinn in the choir room during lunch.

As she grew increasingly aroused, she flashed back to Friday, when they would've made love if Rachel hadn't fallen victim to nerves and a flare-up of insecurity.

She thought back to what Quinn had said: '_You already gave me your love; there's nothing else I could ever want or need.'_

Then, she realized something _else_ Quinn had said: '_I'm ready, Rachel. I… I want this to happen.'_

And there it was, her golden answer: Quinn wanted to have sex with Rachel. Rachel was now one-hundred-percent certain that she was ready to have sex with Quinn.

So, this weekend, Rachel was going to give Quinn the most special and beautiful gift she could give: Herself.

* * *

"Happy birthday again, beautiful!" Rachel told Quinn after Glee practice ended. "Why don't you go ahead and meet me in the parking lot? Then we can head to your house. I have something I need to take care of before we go."

Quinn beamed and waggled her eyebrows. "Ooh, like a _surprise?_"

Rachel's eyes twinkled. "_Maaayyy_-be. I'll meet you in five, okay?"

"'Kay, _beautiful,_" Quinn whispered, giving a little wave as she exited the choir room.

Rachel watched her go, a smile curved at her lips, before turning around to survey the room. She found the person she was looking for in no time. Over there, talking with Artie and Santana, twirling her blonde ponytail around her forefinger as she laughed at something one of them said.

_Bingo_, Rachel thought, eyes burning with determination as they locked on her target.

She strode toward the trio and came to a stop, posture perfect and chin raised.

"Hello," she said, voice ringing clear and purposeful. "How are you three today?"

They all whipped to look at her, different sorts of smiles appearing on their faces. Santana's was genuine but so small, it was almost undetectable; Artie's was wary; and Brittany's was politely expectant.

"Good," said Artie. Oh God. He knew that look on Rachel; it meant she was plotting something and wouldn't rest until it was fulfilled. It was the look that flamed in her maniacally-wide eyes when she competed with someone for a solo.

"What's up, Berry?" Santana asked. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to talk to her; she was. After Rachel and Quinn had been there for her last Friday, she'd come to consider them as friends. Even if she hadn't actually implemented their 'tell Brittany how you really feel' advice yet, that didn't mean she wasn't _appreciative _of it.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to Brittany," Rachel said, eyes on the blonde. "…_Alone_."

Santana, Artie, and Rachel all stared at Brittany expectantly. She blinked, confused, before an apologetic smile spread up her mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry, Rachel, but I'm Brittany _Pierce_, not Brittany Alone. I don't even know who she is, but I hope you find her."

Rachel's brow furrowed. "Um… No, Brittany. I meant, I want to talk to _you _alone. As in, just the two of us."

"Oh, okay," Brittany said, scratching her forehead as it creased in frustration. "Then why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

Rachel fought back an irritated sigh, clamped a hand to Brittany's arm, and marched her to the other side of the choir room. Brittany looked over Rachel's shoulder and shrugged to Artie's quizzical expression and Santana's suspicious one before turning her full attention to Rachel.

"Brittany," Rachel said, lowering her voice, "What are you doing tomorrow after school?"

"Filming a segment of _Fondue for Two_," Brittany whispered back. "Lord Tubbington and I are going to interview Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy to see why they're getting a divorce."

Rachel pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Wait… Aren't they supposed to be brother-and-sister?"

Brittany's blue eyes lit up with understanding. "You are so right! Oh my God, I bet that's why they're getting a divorce."

_Focus,_ Rachel scolded herself. She cleared her throat and said, "Is there any chance you could reschedule your interview? I need your help with something, and I can't do it today, but it needs to be done by Friday. So, tomorrow is the only day that will work."

Brittany beamed. "Sure. What do you need help on? I'm really good at cartwheels and back-flips."

Rachel returned the smile. "Thank you, but maybe another time on the cheerleading lessons. No, what I need for you to do is to go shopping with me. And help me to…" She looked around their area to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop before saying, so quietly that Brittany ducked her head closer to Rachel's and squinted, "I need you to take me lingerie shopping."

Once the words processed in her mind, Brittany's eyes and smile grew as one. She emitted a little squeal and jumped her hands onto Rachel's, swinging their arms from side-to-side. "Wow, Rachel! That sounds like _soooo_ much fun! I would love t – "

"_Shhhh,_" Rachel hissed, clean interrupting the bubbly blonde. "Lower your voice, please." As much as she was enjoying Brittany's excitement, the girl was practically yelling.

Brittany's grin didn't waver in the slightest, but she did speak much quieter when said, "Sorry! Okay, yeah, I would love to take you lingerie shopping! Any excuse for me to get some more edible panties; Santana ate my last pair off of me last weekend."

Rachel's mouth fell open as her eyes popped wide enough that one of them started twitching.

Brittany squeezed Rachel's limp hands, which she still swung lightly within her own. "Oh, don't worry," she assured, mistaking the cause of Rachel's stunned reaction. "They're 'edible;' Santana says that means you can eat them, because they're made out of candy. It's like wearing sweet lady kisses."

Her eyes suddenly filled with worry, not paying attention to Rachel's look of disbelief and disgust, but rather sneaking a glance over at Santana, who was not-so-sneakily glancing over at them.

"Uh-oh," Brittany mumbled, releasing Rachel's hands so she could press her own to her forehead. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you that."

Rachel snapped her mouth closed and shook out her shoulders, expelling the horrifically vivid images of Brittany and Santana from her mind as she did so. "It's okay," she said, "I promise I won't tell anyone. And, look, you can't tell anyone that you're taking me lingerie shopping tomorrow, either, okay? Not even Santana or Artie."

Brittany frowned. "I don't know… I tell Santana _everything_." Her frown deepened when she added, "Except stuff about me and Artie, because she gets all quiet and then doesn't want to cuddle anymore."

Though Rachel truly did like Santana now and considered her a friend, she didn't want her to know that Rachel needed assistance in picking out sexy clothing (or, more accurately, sexing _lack _of clothing). Because then Santana would know that Rachel was planning on…_doing stuff _with Quinn, and Santana would tease her about it – friendly or not, it would still be embarrassing – and maybe even mention something to Quinn and totally ruin the surprise.

Plus, Rachel had a plan on how she could help Santana out with Brittany, which couldn't be done if Santana tagged along with them to go shopping, which she knew she would do if she found out about their plans.

So, Rachel told Brittany, "I promise to come on _Fondue for Two _and sing a duet with your cat if it will ensure that you don't tell Santana about this."

Brittany smiled. "That's really sweet, Rachel, but Lord Tubbington is more of a diva than you and doesn't like to be upstaged. Singing a duet with him would be insulting when he knows he could've done a solo instead. So, I'll tell you what – I won't tell anyone about tomorrow because I think you're a nice, tiny little person, and that's what teammates do, right? Help each other out? And also, when you really want something, your eyes get super big and kind of crazy, and it scares me."

Rachel grinned, choosing to ignore that last part. "Thank you so much, Brittany! My _teammate_." She giggled and slugged the blonde gently on her shoulder.

"Ow," Brittany scowled. "What was that for? I said I would help you, _jeez_."

Rachel struggled to keep her grin from twisting in exasperation. Rather, she held out her arms and said, "I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Brittany stopped rubbing her arm and gave a little smile. "Okay."

They shared a quick, squeezing hug before planning to meet after school in the parking lot the next day, where they would caravan together to the Lima Mall.

Rachel bounced out of the choir room, headed to the parking lot to meet a _different _blonde. A birthday blonde. _Her _blonde.

Her blonde whom she would be having _sex _with this weekend.

Rachel's steps turned into a series of elongated skips, a happy tune humming within her throat.

* * *

"Victoria's Secret is the best place for sexy wear," Brittany told Rachel as the two girls entered Lima Mall the next day. "It's where San and I got your pajama pants for your birthday, remember? Those aren't sexy, but they are cute, right?"

"Oh, yes, very cute," Rachel nodded. "I still appreciate those and wear them often. Thanks again!"

"No problem," Brittany said, getting onto the upward escalator. Rachel hopped onto the step under hers. "So, why do you want my help picking out lingerie? You don't even have a boyfriend; no offense. And it's, like, totally cool if you just want to get some hot clothes for yourself. I don't judge."

"Actually, I have a date with someone this weekend." She decided vague truths would be better than flat-out lying.

A curious smile brightened Brittany's face. "_Really?_" she squeaked. "Ooh, who is it? Do I know him? Is it Finn?"

Rachel pulled a grossed-out face. "Of course not! It's, uh, actually no one you know, so don't worry about it." She cleared her throat. "But, yes, Finn and I only went out for a little while last year; I would never want to date him again, believe me."

The escalator spit them onto the second story of the mall. They walked through a department story with people spritzing perfume samples left and right.

"Yeah," Brittany said, "I never understood why you dated him in the first place. He's _way _too tall for you; did you, like, have to get on a step-stool every time you wanted to kiss him?"

Rachel couldn't help but chuckle at the idea; more like she'd need a _ladder_ to match his insane height. "No, we actually never kissed. He tried to kiss me a few times, but I always ducked away at the last moment so he caught my cheek instead; I just felt…_weird_ when he tried to get intimate, you know?"

"Nope," Brittany chirped, "I don't know; I _love _getting intimate with people. It's totally fun! But I don't think I would want to make-out with Finn; he called me 'stupid' once, _after_ he cheated off my homework. Like, what the hell?"

"Sounds like something he would do. And you're not stupid, Brittany."

Brittany smiled at Rachel as they finally reached the end of the department store and walked into the main part of the mall, with stores lining either side. "Thanks. I know I'm not, and on the days where I'm feeling insecure about it, Santana makes sure to remind me that I'm super-smart and awesome."

Rachel's eyebrows lifted, finding the perfect opportunity for her segue. "So, you and Santana are pretty close, huh?"

Brittany laughed, as if to say '_duh_.' "The closest! Santana is my best friend in the entire world – even more than Lord Tubbington." She shot Rachel a wide-eyed look, emphasizing that this was a big deal. "I love her laugh, and how good her armpits always smell, and how she stands up for me no matter what."

They reached Victoria's Secret and entered the shop. Rachel was bombarded with posters of beautiful half-naked women and spinning racks of bras, underwear, and other types of lingerie. She'd been here a few times before to get refitted for new bras (the day she'd _finally _grown enough to ditch her training bra had been a good one), and she loved the pink walls, pink carpeting, and pleasant smell of different Victoria's Secret brand perfumes mingling through the air this time just as much as she had loved it all last time.

As Brittany led Rachel over to an area with colorful, frilly push-up bras, Rachel said, "Wow, it sounds like Santana's a wonderful friend. I bet you're lucky to have her."

Brittany started fingering a bright purple bra with matching lace fringe. "Yeah," she said, voice going soft and eyes getting dreamy, "I thank Santa Claus every day for sending her to be my best friend. Every Christmas until I met Santana, I wished for him to send me the perfect person for me, and then freshman year, he finally did."

Rachel started flipping through a nearby rack of push-up bras (the ones Brittany perused were far too big for her own A-cup chest). "Do you love her?" She knew Brittany didn't mind blunt, nosy questions; she was an open book with almost every aspect of her life.

"With all my heart," Brittany said, looking at Rachel's hopeful expression and cocking her head at it. "She's my best friend, you know. Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Uhm, nothing," Rachel said, quickly looking down at a neon-orange bra. "No reason. It's just… Uh, how are things with you and Artie? You've been dating for how long?"

"Five months," Brittany said, and Rachel noticed with great interest how normal her tone was now – there was no hint of wistfulness or tenderness like when she talked about Santana. "Things are good. He's really nice, even if sometimes he rolls his eyes and gets impatient with me. But, like, he lets me ride around on his lap, so it's like dating a human rollercoaster! Also, his armpits are pretty nice – not as nice as Santana's, but _nobody's _can smell as good as hers, so it's not his fault."

"It doesn't seem like you're all that into him…"

"No, I am! He is my _boyfriend_ after all. And isn't dating – especially in high school – about having fun and not taking things too seriously? Just because I can't see myself marrying him, doesn't mean that I don't like hanging out with him," Brittany said, before muttering under her breath, "_Most_ of the time."

A thrill raced through Rachel's body at this new information – and at the fact that she was having actual _girl talk _with someone! The real kind that was always shown in the movies or CW shows. In _Victoria's Secret, _no less! While shopping for lingerie to impress her girlfriend! She had died and gone to teen-girl heaven.

And now Brittany was making it clear she didn't see a long-term commitment with Artie? This was all just too perfect.

"Okay, I can see your points on how dating should be fun," Rachel said, desperately trying to keep a reign on her calmness and not jump into her typical overzealousness. "It _should _be. _But! _It should also be with someone whom you really, truly care about and are trying for a future with. Or else, what's the point? It's all just meaningless without love."

Brittany scratched the side of her head and broke eye-contact. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm not in love with Artie, so...yeah." She folded her shoulders around her in a deep shrug, one corner of her mouth snaking upward in an uncomfortable half-smile.

She straightened her posture, cleared her throat, and tossed Rachel a playfully stern look. "How did we get into talking all about me? We're supposed to be here for _you_ and _your_ hot date, missy." She waggled a finger at Rachel, lowered her brow, and pouted her lips, making Rachel giggle as her heart warmed.

Brittany really was adorable; she could see herself becoming close friends with her. She suddenly couldn't _wait_ until Brittany and Santana inevitably got together, and then they could double-date with her and Quinn.

"You're right," Rachel said, ignoring the bras for the time being and focusing on Brittany instead. "Just one more question, I promise."

Brittany sighed – not rudely, but not exactly rife with patience either. "Okay; what is it?"

"If you could only hang-out with one person for the rest of your life, who would it be?"

Brittany rolled her eyes, smiling for real this time. "That's easy! Santana. Why don't you try actually asking me a hard question next time?"

As soon as Brittany's eyes were averted back to the bras, Rachel let a satisfied grin overtake her face. She was certain that Brittany was as into Santana as Santana was into Brittany; Rachel prided herself on having a bit of a sixth sense to these kinds of things. Also, there was the fact that Brittany's eyes lit up each time she talked about Santana, in a way far more special than someone just talking about their 'best friend.'

"Ooh, Rach, let's ditch the bras for now and go look at _those!_"

Rachel looked up from the spinning rack before her to see where Brittany was pointing. Rachel squinted at the shelf of tiny, lacy objects in an array of muted colors.

"Are those…_slingshots?_" she asked, brow furrowing.

Brittany clapped a hand over her mouth to subdue her sudden burst of laughter. Shaking her head and smiling at Rachel, she skipped over to her, linked their arms together, and started marching her over to the display.

"No, silly!" Brittany said. "They're _thongs_. And if you couldn't tell that, then we've got a _lot _of work to do today."

Rachel giggled and let the lightness of pure happiness float inside her chest. With a girl as sex-savvy as Brittany on her side, there was no way she could fail in picking out the perfect, _sexiest_ ensemble.

Ladies and gentlemen of Lima, watch out!

And Quinn Fabray?

Get ready for Rachel Berry to rock your world.


	11. Past - 5b

I'm so sorry for how long it took me to get this chapter up! I planned on it being up much sooner than this. I've been super, SUPER busy these past couple of weeks! I start college on Monday, and so I have been in a whirlwind of getting everything prepared for that. But then I got an incredibly nice review from an anon called "Gee," asking me to please update soon, and so of course, how could I not rush to the computer and try to fulfill their wish? :') Just so you know, reviews really do encourage me to update more frequently, because it lets me know that there are people out there who, amazingly enough, are invested in this story, and so I don't want to let them down and keep them waiting. But sometimes I can forget that with how busy life can get, haha.

Thank you to every single person who reviewed, to those who put this on Alerts of Favorites, or even if you are just reading this... THANK YOU! I wish I could give you all a big hug. :'D

This chapter picks up from where the last one left off, a few days later, as you will see. I hope you enjoy! :D

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

_**April 2011 - 11th Grade**_

**PART TWO**

"Mom, if you polish that lamp any more, I think you'll rub a hole in it."

Judy's hand halted its crazed circular motions along the base of a living room lamp. Her eyes were wide and glassy, mouth parted, and random tendrils of hair fell from her up-do.

Quinn sighed and walked over to her, spreading her arms wide to envelop her in a hug. "Mom, please, calm down. It's just dad, Fran, and Rach coming over, not the president of the United States."

Judy dropped her polishing rag onto the carpet and wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist, pulling her daughter against her and breathing in the calming scent of her hair. Quinn felt Judy's shuddering breath, the sound of a whimper emitting from deep within the woman's stiffened body.

Judy took another steadying breath and smacked a quick kiss atop Quinn's silky hair before pulling away. "I know, sweetie, but the last time your father was here, he _oh-so-kindly_ suggested that I hire a maid."

"Why do you care what Dad thinks?" Quinn asked, as gently as she could. "You're divorced."

"Exactly," Judy sighed, bending down to collect the polishing rag. When she stood back up, she wrung it through her hands. "You wouldn't understand, Quinnie. But they'll be here any minute, and I have to make sure everything is _perfect_."

"What are you talking about?" Quinn smiled at her mom and rested a hand on her upper arm. Judy's lips quirked back only the slightest at the gesture, but her shoulders relaxed. "The house looks fantastic! You did a great job cleaning it, and I think I helped quite a bit, if I do say so myself."

"Yes, you certainly did." Judy gave a nod and a better attempt at a smile.

Fresh vacuum tracks ran across the cream-colored carpeting and Venetian rug. The window's maroon-colored drapes were pulled open to sparkling-clean windows. The lamps were polished so shiny that they could see their reflection in them. The wood-based furniture had been dusted, the couch's pillows had been fluffed, and some of the photos of Quinn and Frannie through the years were even set in newer frames.

"Really the only thing that needs fixing is your hair," Quinn giggled. "You look gorgeous, Mom, but it kind of looks like a bird started nesting atop your head."

Despite herself, Judy chuckled. She lifted a hand to pat her hair and chuckled even harder upon feeling the tangles and overall messiness. "You're right; I'll go do that while you put on some shoes."

Quinn glanced at her bare feet. "But we're indoors at _our _home; why would I need to wear shoes?"

"Because bare feet look tacky," Judy said. "I'm not saying you need high-heels or anything, but a simple, pretty pair of flats would do wonders for tying your outfit together."

Quinn huffed; she knew her mother was right – as she tended to be in the fashion department – but she liked being barefoot at home, especially on her fluffy carpet. Still, she knew Judy didn't need any extra stress, so she just nodded and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

She selected a pair of simple silver flats from her closet and slipped them onto her feet. She checked herself out in her room's full-length mirror: she wore a lavender-colored lightweight cardigan over a white knee-length dress with purple, red, and yellow peonies all over it. A silver headband made the white undertones of her delicately curled, golden hair sparkle.

Quinn watched as a satisfied smile pulled into her cheekbones. A flutter of excitement manifested inside her stomach; in just a few minutes, she was going to have all of the people she loved most at her home, together. Rachel would get to meet Quinn's father and sister for the first time.

The doorbell rang, pulling Quinn from her thoughts. She flipped off her bedroom light and bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time. "I'll get it!" she called to her mom, skidding to a stop before the front door and not even bothering to check the peephole before throwing it open.

There stood none other than Rachel, her million-watt beam spilling more light into the house than the early evening sunshine ever could. Her overnight bag was slung over one shoulder; her purse, the other.

"Who is it?" Judy's voice rang out from down the hall.

"It's Rachel!" Quinn yelled back, not taking her eyes off the girl before her. Quinn's entire face lit up upon seeing her girlfriend.

"Hey, stranger," Quinn said, biting at the corner of her lip and quirking an eyebrow. "Did you come for the party?"

"Came for the party, but stayed for the incredibly gorgeous _honoree_ of said party," Rachel said with a little wink. She lowered her voice and added, "Anyone around?"

"My mom's in her room, fixing her hair. My dad and Frannie should be here soon, but… as of right now…"

"The coast is clear," Rachel finished, meeting Quinn halfway for a chaste but lingering kiss. Their lips melted together: warm and soft and ever-so delicious. When they parted with the softest of smacking sounds, Quinn released a tiny whine that it was over.

"I want moooorrrrrre," she complained, stomping her foot and pouting so adorably that _of course _Rachel had to lean in and turn those lips back into a smile with her own.

"Are you going to invite me in, or are you going to keep stealing kisses from me on the doorstep like I'm some common harlot?"

Quinn chuckled and stepped aside, allowing Rachel entrance into her home. She shut the door behind her before turning to face the shorter brunette once more. "You look _gorgeous_, Rachie."

Rosy red spilled into Rachel's cheeks at the compliment, making her even _more _gorgeous than just a few seconds ago. Quinn was amazed how, no matter how often she saw her, Rachel never failed to take her breath away.

"Thanks," Rachel grinned, holding out the edges of her shiny black satin mini-dress and doing a little swaying dance.

The dress had a giant white satin bow pinned to the chest area, matching the white ribbon worn as a headband in her straightened hair. Black flats with little white bows on them were on her feet, like a miniature version of the dress. Bright, vivid red lips provided the only pop of color. It was an interesting wardrobe choice, that was for sure, and in Quinn's opinion, no one but Rachel could pull it off.

Then again, she thought Rachel could wear a burlap sack and look fabulous, so she was kind of biased.

"You're stunning, as always," Rachel said, so matter-of-factly and affectionately that it made Quinn's chest grow impossibly warm. "It's truly sickening how beautiful you are; if you weren't the love of my life and I didn't get to stare at you every day, I would probably hate you for it."

Quinn had to look away, heart soaring up to heaven and mouth grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. If she remained matching such intense eye-contact with Rachel for even a second longer, she thought her entire being may burst from all their mutual love and happiness.

"Do you want to put your stuff in my room?" she asked, still unable to wipe away her grin.

"Of course, but would you mind escorting me? There are actually a few questions I have for you."

"Sure thing."

When they reached Quinn's room, Rachel set her overnight bag and purse onto Quinn's bed before walking back into the hallway, where Quinn waited for her.

Rachel closed the door behind her and leaned against it, peering up at Quinn and nibbling on her bottom lip in a way that made Quinn have to smile, because she looked so much like a nervous little bunny rabbit.

"Yes?" Quinn prompted. "And those questions you have for me are...?"

Rachel took an audible breath; it sputtered out to flutter her bangs like a bird's wing. "Okay, well…"

And then, she fired off a rapid string of overlapping questions, to the point where Quinn was squinting to try and decipher where one ended and the next began: "How do you want me to act around your father and sister? What do you want me to say to them? How should I start the conversation, or… – or! _Or_, wait, do I wait for _them _to start the conversation? And would you prefer – "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Quinn laughed in mild disbelief, lifting up her hands to halt Rachel's next sentence. "Rachel, _calm down_. I didn't get, like, _any _of that."

Rachel huffed, half-frustration and half-embarrassment. "Look, I don't know how you want me to be around your family, okay? What if I come across as too loud and babbly, you know, kind of like _exactly _what I'm doing right now?" Her eyes filled with horror as she realized that she was already setting herself up to fail. Oh God, she was making a bad first impression on Quinn's dad and sister, and she hadn't even _met_ them yet!

Quinn tilted her head, a tender frown creasing between her eyebrows, turning down her lips. "Babe," she said, setting a hand onto Rachel's shoulder and gripping it. "You've got this all wrong."

"How so?" Rachel asked, still not looking convinced.

"The only way I want you to be is _exactly _how you already are," Quinn said, staring deep into Rachel's eyes, waiting to see the meaning of her words sink in. "My family is going to love everything about you, even if you're loud and babbly – no, not _even_ if you are, but _because _you are. They're going to fall in love with you just like I have, only not in a romantic way, because then I would have to fight my family away from my girlfriend, and that would just be _weird_."

She watched as Rachel's panic seeped from her eyes, replaced by a glowing gratitude and newfound confidence. "How did I luck out to get you, huh?" Rachel asked, shaking her head and smiling so softly, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. Their hearts fluttered to their toes.

Quinn let her other hand join the first by grabbing Rachel's other shoulder, leaning in to deepen the kiss. Like their greeting a few minutes ago, there was no tongue, but somehow the innocence made it even morearousing to them.

"Girls!" Judy shouted from downstairs. "Please come down here to help me finish setting the table!"

Rachel made a reluctant groan in the back of her throat before parting lips with Quinn, only to join fingers together and stride down the stairs. When they deposited onto the living room, they dropped hands and walked into the kitchen, walking closely enough that their shoulders and hips kept bumping.

Judy looked up from setting down a lit candelabra in the center of the table, a smile jumping onto her face when she took in the girls. Quinn noticed that she'd groomed her hair into a sophisticated twist.

"Hello, Rachel," Judy said. "Well don't you look lovely?"

"Thank you, Judy!" Rachel beamed. "You look quite smashing, yourself."

Judy's smile spread in thanks, her eyes falling onto her daughter. Falling, and then _widening_ when taking in the faint red smudges along the edges of her grinning mouth.

"Oh my God, honey, are you bleeding?"

"What?! No! … Am I?" Quinn stuck her arms straight in front of her and inspected them, before looking down at her bare legs peeking from her dress. No blood in sight.

"No, your lips," Judy said, pointing to her own pucker.

Quinn flushed redder than the incriminating body part; Rachel's eyes grew big and panicked, her fingers twitching at her sides, fighting the urge to wipe away any smudges from her own mouth.

"Oh, um," Quinn forced out a laugh. "Rachel let me borrow some of her lipstick, but I wiped it off because it clashed with my outfit, and, uh, it must not have come off all the way."

Judy lifted her eyebrows, taking in Rachel's bright red lips and seeing that… No, her eyes were playing tricks on her. Rachel's lipstick wasn't smeared, too… Of course not….

Judy scratched at the back of her neck, brow folding, and stared at the tablecloth with unbridled interest. "Just wipe it off with a wet paper towel, and you'll be fine."

Quinn and Rachel swapped a quick glance before going over to the sink; they used their reflections in the toaster to make sure they did the job right. Once the red was gone from Quinn's lips and Rachel's were no longer smudged at the corners, they tossed the paper towels into the trashcan.

As they were about to walk back over to Judy to help her finish setting the table, Quinn found her hand clamping Rachel's elbow as her frantic hazel eyes sought out calmer brown ones.

"Do you think she knows now?" Quinn whispered, tone fierce with a desperate need for the answer to be 'no.'

Rachel shook her head. "No, of course not," she whispered back. "You made a good cover story. _But_, if we keep standing here whispering in the middle of the kitchen, I think she'll sense something is up." She lifted her brow, eliciting a small nod from Quinn.

They aided Judy in the table set-up, grateful that she seemed to have already forgotten the incident had happened.

"I can't wait until you meet Frannie," Quinn told Rachel as they folded red cloth napkins in half. "She's so smart, and skilled with fashion, and she _always_ speaks her mind."

"Sounds like someone I know," Rachel said, smiling tenderly at Quinn, who beamed in return.

"Aw, thanks! But Frannie goes to _Yale,_ you know. She gets straight A's there. Both of my parents went to Yale, actually; it's where they met. Right, Mom?"

Judy's mouth tightened considerably. "Right."

Obliviously, Quinn chirped on, highlighting Frannie this, and Frannie that; Rachel kept smiling in return, though her nerves were storming in again.

"And Daddy just treats Fran and me like we're his little princesses," Quinn was saying as she lined up the forks and knives beside a China plate. "Sometimes, I think he forgets I'm not six years old anymore." She rolled her eyes as if in deep annoyance, but the grin on her face betrayed her.

The more and more Quinn talked about her family, the more Rachel felt an increasing complexity of excitement and nerves twirl overlapping knots through her stomach. Oh God, she hoped tonight was a success. She hoped Quinn's family liked her. She hoped she belonged, fit in right away, just like _that_.

After all, these people could maybe even be her future in-laws.

If she had a say about it, they _would _be her future in-laws, no 'maybe' about it.

Just as they had finished with the table (and as Rachel had finished gulping away a fresh swell of nerves within her throat), the doorbell rang.

"We'll get it, Mom!" Quinn leaped to Rachel, capturing her smaller hand within her own, and the two girls half-ran, half-skipped to the front door. The childishness of their gait had them bursting into giggles.

Giggles which turned into flat-out squeals from Quinn when she threw open her door and saw her dad for the first time in four months.

"Daddy!" she cried.

Rachel tried not to let herself get too disappointed when Quinn dropped her hand before her father could notice.

"There's the birthday girl!" Russell boomed with pride, sweeping his daughter into a papa bear hug.

Quinn exploded into girlish giggles; Rachel's heart melted at the sound, remembering all the times it had been directed toward her.

"Well, technically, my birthday was on Wednesday," Quinn reminded him. She beamed at Russell, feeling like a little kid all over again. She could be eighty years old, but it wouldn't make a difference; she would forever be her daddy's little girl.

"That's right," he said, holding her wrists and appraising her at arm's length. "You've gotten even prettier since the last time I saw you."

Quinn felt that familiar sense of validation, powering her heart at the compliment. When her dad let go of her wrists, she took the opportunity to whirl toward Rachel, who was watching them with an eager smile.

"Daddy, this is my best friend in the whole world – Rachel Berry!"

Russell and Rachel stared at each other for a moment; Rachel grinned a grin as jubilant as it was bashful, stretching from ear-to-ear at the man who could become a third father to her one day.

Russell grinned back, winsome and wide. "Pleasure to – " The rest of his words were cut off when Rachel threw herself at him, her small arms barely reaching all the way around his wide chest as she crushed him in an enthusiastic hug.

The side of Rachel's face was pressed against his blue button-down shirt, so she only heard the faint rumble of a chuckle building from within before escaping from his mouth. She only felt his hand giving her a friendly pat on her back.

She didn't see the way his nose crinkled, or the way his mouth twisted upside-down.

But Quinn did.

And it made her grin fall right off her face as a horrible feeling of foreboding sickened her stomach.

Rachel peeled herself away from Russell and stepped back beside Quinn, flashing a jubilant smile to her girlfriend. Quinn managed to return it, but hers felt heavy at the edges.

But not for long, because at that moment, a voice called "Knock, knock!" from the open doorway.

They all spun to see Frannie Fabray, standing with a designer purse swinging from her shoulder.

Rachel's eyes widened at the sight of her; she was _almost_ as lovely as Quinn (being on par with Quinn or – God forbid – _above_ par with Quinn was just impossible, as far as Rachel was concerned. Nobody in the entire world could ever be as beautiful as her, in terms of outer _or _inner beauty).

Frannie had long, stick-straight, white-blonde hair. Her eyes were almond-shaped and the same blue-green color as Judy's. Her nose was slender, skin was smooth, and her teeth were bleached a pure white that popped against the light pink lipstick she wore.

Quinn had been right about Frannie being "skilled with fashion;" the tall, willowy girl wore a long, flowing dress in a rich shade of purple that made her hair appear to glow in contrast. Golden teardrop earrings matched the golden bangles stacked on both wrists. Her feet sported a pair of simple but elegant sandals that showed off her light pink pedicure.

Rachel knew she was openly gaping at the older sister of her girlfriend; it wasn't so much in admiration as it was in _shock_. She just couldn't accept that one family could have so many model-worthy attractive people – there was Judy's older but elegant beauty, Quinn's impeccable beauty, and now Frannie's fabulous beauty.

Seeing Frannie was unreal, unfair, but, she supposed, not unexpected.

Quinn lit up as Frannie entered the house and closed the door behind her. Rachel would've been jealous at the reaction if it weren't for that fact that Quinn lit up _more _for Rachel. Still, sister or not, she didn't like having anyone in competition for Quinn's greatest affection (she knew it was selfish of her, but still.)

"Hey, kiddo," Frannie said, setting her purse and suitcase down. She and Quinn met each other halfway in a hug. When they came together, Rachel noticed that Frannie was several inches taller. "You need to stop growing up so fast, or you're going to be as hot as me, and then you'll be stealing all my boyfriends away!"

Quinn couldn't help it; the absurdity of that comment made her laugh out loud. She pulled away from Frannie and shared the quickest of smiles with Rachel, who was also laughing, but just a little bit.

"Trust me, Fran," Quinn said, poking her sister on the shoulder. "You do _not_ have to worry about that." She looked her up and down before adding, "Great dress, by the way."

"Thanks," Frannie smiled, maybe with just a hint of superiority. "It cost a fortune, but it also makes me _look _like a fortune, so I figure it all evens out in the end."

"But aren't you a college student?" Rachel blurted out. "How do you have enough money to waste on expensive clothes?" She could've kicked herself for opening her big mouth without thinking.

Frannie turned slowly to face her, those dark blonde eyebrows arching as a smile that was a dash too tight to be described as 'genuine' pulled up her pink mouth. "Quinn? Who's this?"

"That's Rachel," Quinn said with a warm grin aimed the brunette's way.

Rachel's chest swelled with pride that she didn't need any further explanation; her name alone made understanding spark within Frannie's eyes and caused that smile to instantly turn sincere.

"So _you're_ the girl my sister's always telling me about," Frannie said, making Rachel blush with pleasure. "The best friend of hers who is extremely talented and going to be a big Broadway star someday."

"Yep, that's me!" Rachel beamed. "At least, I _hope _it's me." She shot a mock-suspicious eyebrow-raise Quinn's way.

Quinn snorted, rolled her eyes, and whacked her on the shoulder. "Yes, it's _you,_ silly."

"Frannie! You look _beautiful!_"

Almost in perfect unison, the four at the doorway turned to find Judy, striding out of the kitchen with her head held high and a big smile on her face. She stared only at Frannie, pointedly ignoring Russell.

"Mom!" Frannie ran over to her; the two embraced, and when they pulled apart, Judy kissed her cheek. "The house looks lovely."

"Yes," Rachel said, noticing how happy – and smug – the comment made Judy. "Very clean."

Judy finally looked at a scowling Russell, giving him a somehow both sharp and innocent look, like '_clean?_ well, what do you know?'

"Hello, Judy," he said, his voice gruff.

"Hello, Russell."

"You look healthier than the last time I saw you," said Russell, "like you put on some weight."

Judy's jaw dropped, and eyes colored with hurt. Rachel's widened in disgusted shock. Frannie covered her forehead with one hand and shook her head back and forth.

"Dad!" Quinn threw him a horrified expression. "Why would you say that?"

"What?" Russell rolled his eyes. "I meant it as a compliment. She was way too skinny the last time I saw her. Glad to know she makes enough money to feed you two and keep you eating."

Rachel pressed her lips together and stared at her shoes. Quinn couldn't _believe_ her dad was acting this way, and in front of _Rachel_, no less; her cheeks started turning red, and her heart started beating faster.

Judy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she let a magnificently fake smile stretch up her face. "Speaking of eating," she looked at her daughters, at Rachel, at their sympathy, and the smile turned more genuine. "Dinner's ready. If you'll all follow me into the kitchen, we can begin."

Judy led the way, with Frannie right behind. Quinn and Rachel started to walk forward at the same time, but Russell swooped in, swinging an arm around Quinn's waist and yanking her into his side. He made her walk with him, step-by-step, and ruffled her hair. "Hey, don't ignore your old man. You'd better sit by me."

"Of course, Daddy!" Quinn giggled.

But Rachel couldn't help the way a shiver crawled down her spine at his words, at the way he clutched at his daughter possessively, at how he had wedged himself between them.

Judy sat down at the head of the table; Russell took the other end, directly across from her. Frannie sat next to Judy. Quinn sat across from Frannie and next to Russell. There was an empty seat beside Quinn, between her and Judy. Quinn patted it at Rachel's lost expression, and, smiling, Rachel took it.

Everybody heaped their plates with the food laid out in platters on the table: mashed potatoes, steak, green beans, macaroni and cheese, fruit salad, and of course, a special plate of bacon, just for Quinn.

They set their napkins into their laps, and as Rachel's hand closest to Quinn was beginning to rise back to the table, Quinn caught it with her own.

Secret smiles fought not to tug at their lips as their fingers played together, fingertips pressing, palms squeezing together.

"If you'll all join hands so we can pray to our Lord Jesus," Russell said.

"No," Judy said with a quick shake of her head. "We can all say our own private prayers tonight."

"Excuse me?" Russell's eyebrows shot up his head.

And Quinn's hand froze against Rachel's before squeezing, tight, for dear life. Suddenly, they weren't so smiley. Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand back, gulping at the electrified anger that was beginning to course from either end of the table, shooting out between former husband and wife.

Judy held Russell's gaze. "Rachel is Jewish," she explained. "It would be disrespectful to make her pray to our religion."

Russell's mouth twisted in disgust, for just a second, but it had been there. Then, he wiped his face clean, looked at Rachel (she gulped), and put on a polite smile, all bared teeth, reminding her of a shark. "You're Jewish?"

Quinn's shoulders tensed. "Please, Daddy, let's not get into a religious debate."

"Who said anything about a religious debate? I'm simply asking the girl if she's Jewish." Russell shrugged with the utmost innocence at Quinn before shooting his attention back at Rachel. "It's a simple yes or no question."

Frannie picked at her plate, appearing already bored of this conversation, but her fingers were tight around her fork. "Da-_ad_, how about laying off the third-degree with Quinn's best friend? We'd hate to run her off so soon."

"It's okay," Rachel said. "I don't mind answering." She cleared her throat, threw her shoulders back, and met Russell's eyes, her own trying not to show any emotion. "Yes, sir, I am."

"'Sir,'" Russell nodded, pointed a fork at her. "Respectful. I like that."

Rachel felt relief pouring through her, deflating her defensive stance. Beside her, Quinn released a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Okay then, so the girl's Jewish," Russell shrugged again, began slicing into his steak. "It's your house, Judy. Your rules. No group-prayer. If that's the way you want to run things, fine by me."

Now Judy was the one to let out a breath. "All right then. Dig in, everyone!"

Quinn and Rachel had to let go of each other's hands so they could grip their silverware instead. But no matter; they took to playing footsie under the table to make up for it.

A silence, toeing the line between awkward and not, descended upon the table for a few minutes as mouths were too busy tasting all the food to talk.

"Wow, Judy, this is delicious!" Rachel enthused, even though the mashed potatoes were perhaps a bit too salty, and the green beans were soggy.

"Yeah, I love the fruit salad," said Frannie.

"And the bacon is _fantastic_," Quinn insisted with the most genuine tone of all, mouth bulged around said food.

"Well, thank you, girls," Judy grinned, pride dancing in her eyes as she speared some mac and cheese with her fork.

"The steak's dry," Russell said.

Judy's hand tightened on her fork, grin falling off her face.

"And the green beans are soggy," he added against a silence that was now definitely more awkward than not. "But, you know, nice effort, Jude!"

Judy threw her fork onto her plate. "Don't call me that."

"What, you used to love it when I called you that." Russell said defensively, and shrugged again, before munching on a bite of steak.

"The food is great," Quinn said quickly; her mom was just _staring_ at Russell, silently fuming, with her arms crossed over her chest. "Seriously, Mom, it's great." Judy looked at Quinn and saw the plea in her eyes to drop it. So, sighing, Judy did, picking up her fork and her dignity with it.

"So, Rachel," Frannie said, taking a sip from her water. "What's your dream Broadway role?"

Rachel blushed at the sudden attention, all eyes on her. "Oh, um, well, there are a few."

"Like?" Frannie lifted her perfect eyebrows.

"Like, Fanny Brice from _Funny Girl_, Evita in the title role, Maria from _West Side Story_, maybe even Sally Bowels from _Cabaret_."

"Rachel's an _amazing_ singer," Quinn gushed. "The best singer I've ever heard, by far. Any role she lands on Broadway will be lucky to have her."

Rachel blushed harder this time, from head to toe, sparkling with a smile aimed at Quinn. Quinn returned the smile, getting lost in her eyes for a moment before turning back to her plate.

And across from them, Frannie took it all in and frowned.

"Do you have a back-up career plan?" asked Russell.

"Excuse me?" Rachel blinked at him, polite but confused.

"Well, being a Broadway actress is a pretty unrealistic dream. It would be like Judy here wanting to be a professional chef." He burst into laughter at his joke; nobody else did. "You know, Broadway legends are one-in-a-million. So, Rachel, what will you do if you fail?"

Rachel's jaw dropped; she stared down at her plate, searching for words, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Um…"

"Daddy," Quinn rushed in, a heavy sort of placating to her voice. "Rachel _is_ one-in-a-million. Her voice would blow you away. She's _not_ going to fail."

"Sorry, honey, but I didn't know your name was 'Rachel,'" said Russell with a teasing grin. "I'm sure the girl can speak for herself."

"Russell," Judy seethed from clenched teeth. "That is _enough_."

"I swear," Russell's grin flipped into a scowl. "You are all so damn _sensitive_."

"So, kiddo," Frannie said, sending her panicked sister a calming smile. "Got any new boy toys?"

"No, no, not in front of Dad!" Russell pretended to cover his ears, earning him a giggle from Frannie and an uncomfortable-cough-disguised-as-a-chuckle from Quinn.

"Um, no, Fran, no new boy toys," she said.

"I find it impossible to believe that a girl as freaking _gorgeous_ as you would have trouble finding a boyfriend," Frannie raised her eyebrows.

"It's not that I have _trouble_; it's just that I don't want a boyfriend." This, at least, was not a lie. Still, Quinn prayed Frannie would drop the subject. Especially from the way Rachel had been picking at the same green bean since the start of it.

"_Rachel_," Frannie said, with such sudden, fierce recognition that Rachel's eyes popped wide and she jumped back in her chair.

"Y-yes?" she squeaked.

Quinn struggled to remain neutral, but her hands had started to tremble atop her lap. She smoothed them over her dress, again and again.

"Be honest," Frannie said with a conspiring smile and wicked eyes. "I know she'd tell you; does Quinn have a boyfriend?"

Rachel could have laughed at the irony. You know, could have if her throat wasn't so dry that it hurt when she swallowed before answering. "No, she does not." She tried for a friendly smile and took a hearty sip from her water.

"Well, thank God for that. Dear ol' Dad doesn't need a heart attack."

"Yes, because you'd actually need a heart to have one," Judy mumbled to herself. She thought she'd been quiet, but when she turned her eyes up from her plate, she saw that everyone was staring at her in shock.

Quinn's eyes shut, hands tightened like fists against the lap of her dress. _Please let that slide, Dad; please let that slide; please let that _–

"You know, Judy," said Russell, with _too_ much casualness. "It's no wonder you haven't found another man after our divorce. Nobody wants to date a bitch."

"Dad!" Frannie gasped.

"Oh my God," Rachel muttered.

And Quinn, her eyes squeezed tighter shut and lower lip started quivering. Rachel noticed and quickly ducked a hand under the table, landing it atop one of Quinn's fists and rubbing soothing circles on top.

But the mounting, thick tension dissipated when Judy realized a harsh, dry laugh and shook her head. "I'm not going to bother replying to that, Russell. I'm not going to help ruin Quinn's birthday dinner."

Quinn's eyes flew open, and suddenly, she could breathe again.

The rest of the dinner was a little better. Russell seemed to have realized that Judy wasn't going to argue with him, no matter what he said, so he had no choice but to play it nice. They mainly talked about how Frannie was doing in college, about the new boy she'd started dating (named George), about the colleges Quinn and Rachel would be applying to next year, about how little Quinnie had grown up into such a beautiful woman, et cetera.

Finally, the plates were cleared for dessert, and after singing Quinn 'Happy Birthday', they dug into the store-bought chocolate cake with chocolate icing and _that_, at least, was delicious.

Judy stayed in the kitchen to clean up while the rest of the group went into the living room.

"Well, Quinnie-pie, I think I should head on out soon," said Russell. "I don't want to wait until the traffic gets too bad."

"Oh, Daddy, do you have to leave?" Quinn pouted, though relief eased away the knots that had been gathering in her stomach throughout dinner.

"Sorry, pumpkin, but I'll see you again over the summer." He ruffled her hair, kissed her forehead. "And Rachel." He swiveled to face her, and this time, surprisingly, the smile on his lips was sincere. "It was nice to meet you. You seem like a nice girl, and I'm glad my princess found someone like you to be a good influence on her."

Rachel beamed at that, this seal of validation from Russell making her, perhaps selfishly, suddenly like him much more. "Thank you! It was _great_ to meet you, too."

"I'm going to go call George," Frannie said. "And then I'm going to head on out, too."

"You're not staying the night?" Quinn frowned with disappointment.

"I can't, kiddo." Frannie frowned, too, hers apologetic. "I have to meet with my study group tomorrow about this big project we have due on Monday. My flight leaves first thing tomorrow morning, and it's closer to the airport if I stay in a hotel."

"Aw, okay," Quinn sighed with resigned understanding and hugged her sister, the embrace tight and warm from both ends. "Just promise you won't wait so long to visit me next time, okay?"

"You got it, kiddo." Frannie winked at her, blew her a kiss.

"'Bye, Rachel! I'm glad I finally got to meet you." Frannie walked over to give the much shorter girl a hug.

Rachel hugged her back, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, practically bursting with happiness. She'd done it; they liked her! Quinn's family liked her!

"'Bye, Frannie," Rachel said, before blurting out, "You're so pretty."

Frannie laughed at that, flattered. "I like this girl," she said to Quinn. "Keep her around, will you?"

"Trust me, I don't want her going anywhere," Quinn beamed, winking at Rachel, who grinned so hard back that her cheeks hurt.

Frannie excused herself down the hallway to Judy's room for some privacy with her phone call.

"I'm going to use the restroom before I go," Russell said. "I love you, Quinnie."

"Love you more, Daddy!"

He slipped down the hallway to the bathroom.

Excitement surged through Rachel. Everyone was leaving, which meant it was time to get Quinn's surprise ready.

"I'm going to your room," Rachel said. "To…take care of something. Don't come in without knocking, please."

Quinn cocked her head, fought back a smile. "_Hmmm_, are you up to something?"

"Maaaybbeee…"

Quinn's smile exploded into full-force. "Ooh, okay! Well, let me walk you up to my room, at least."

"Sure thing, birthday girl!"

They linked elbows and hurried up the staircase. When they got to Quinn's room, she opened the door, but didn't step inside. Rather, knowing the coast was clear, Quinn turned and pressed Rachel against the wall and kissed her, lips hard with the sudden need shooting through her.

"Wha – _mmm_," Rachel's eyes fluttered shut as Quinn coaxed her mouth open with a skillful tongue. She returned the pressure of the kiss, her arms encircling around Quinn, pulling her against her.

Quinn ran her hands through Rachel's hair, then cupped them against her chin and propped the girl's face up further. She kissed her deeper, moaning.

Their lips pulled apart with a little _smack_; pulses pounded wild in their chest, throat, wrists; they stared at each other with love and hunger burning in their eyes.

"What was that for?" Rachel gasped for breath, breasts heaving up and down against Quinn's in a manner that made the blonde starved for more contact, everywhere, craving all of her at once.

"_That_ was your reward for getting through that horrible dinner with me," Quinn said, quiet, husky, _sexy_; Rachel shivered all over, a delicious kind of shiver. She stroked her fingertips along the sides of Rachel's face.

"It wasn't _that_ bad…"

"Rachel."

"Okay, it was pretty awful."

Quinn shook her head at her dysfunctional family and sighed. At least she had Rachel. Her perfect Rachel.

"Now, reward me again, baby," Rachel breathed, eyes closing and head lolling back against the wall. Her hands slipped down to grab at Quinn's ass, squeezing.

Quinn crashed her mouth down onto Rachel's, latching tight; this time, it was Rachel's tongue that begged entrance, sliding hotly over the bottom of Quinn's lip before nibbling on it.

Arousal struck gold within them; they grinded together, Quinn bumping her leg up between Rachel's, sending her back hard into the wall. Rachel groaned and slipped hasty hands over to Quinn's bare thigh under the dress, pressing her fingertips there, half-to-steady-herself and half-to-press-Quinn-further-against-her.

Quinn bucked again, dropping her mouth to Rachel's neck, biting just hard enough to leave her teeth-print but not to break the skin. She felt Rachel's racing pulse beneath, grazed out a tongue against that silky-smooth skin to taste her sweet perfume.

Rachel gulped, unable to find enough air to even moan, everything hot and beautiful and dizzy. She drove her hips out, positioning her leg to strike up between Quinn's as she did so. Now it was Quinn's turn to moan, muscles turning to mush, need radiating out from where Rachel had made contact.

"I love you, baby," she panted, eyes closed, fingers playing with a wayward lock of brunette hair. "Like crazy."

"Crazier," Rachel managed to breathe out, her fingers sliding up and down Quinn's thigh.

"Craz_iest_," Quinn finished, attaching her lips to Rachel's once more.

When they'd nibbled and tasted each other for a few more decadent moments, Rachel raised a hand to Quinn's chest, right above her zooming heart, and pushed her away in a manner that was somehow both gentle and firm.

They opened their eyes at the same time and found each other's gazing back, beautiful and adoring.

"You should really get back downstairs to your family," Rachel whispered. "I'm sure they want to say goodbye again."

"Okay," said Quinn, but it was more of a whine. She sighed, buried her face in Rachel's neck, took a final whiff of her.

"Remember to knock, okay, baby?" Rachel kissed Quinn on the cheek, smoothed a hand over her hair. "And clean yourself up before you go back downstairs; you're a mess." She smiled at her with the utmost affection.

Quinn returned the smile, just as gentle and loving, and giggled. "Okay." It was all she could find in her whirling mind to say, distracted by all the hot-and-bothered feelings still racing through her system.

Rachel ducked into Quinn's bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Quinn took a deep, shuddery, _delicious_ breath as she stared at that door and the love of her life waiting behind it with something up her sleeve.

Smile still nestled high up her cheeks, she started running her hands over her now-wrinkled dress, unbunching it from between her thighs, and was just beginning to finger-comb her hair when she turned around, back toward the stairs to bid her dad and sister a final goodbye.

Her entire body froze, fingers tangling to a stop, eyes widening and mouth falling and heart _stopping_.

"Oh my God," she wheezed, panic slipping all over her body like ice water. "Frannie."

Her sister stared back at her, shock and disgust etched in every pore and crevice of her face. She stood on top of the stairs, just _stood_ there, one white-knuckled hand posed against the wooden railing, staring at Quinn with such utter betrayal and disapproval.

A beat of heavy silence, and then:

Frannie shook her head, spun around, and began descending the staircase at a hectic speed that matched Quinn's resuming heartbeat.

"Frannie!" It was a cry this time, a plea, as Quinn tore after her. "Please! Wait! Just, just let me explain!"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs; Frannie bounded the last step, landed on the carpeted floor. Quinn caught up to her, nearly tripping in her haste.

"Frannie!" she grabbed at her sister, whirled her around. "_Please!_" Tears sprung to her eyes, begged her to listen. "H-how much of that did you see?"

"Hmmm, let's see," Frannie's eyes flashed, face hardened, and tone burned hot, hot as the blush cooking all along Quinn's face and neck. "It was around the time when you were practically _fucking_ that girl against the wall, moaning and kissing her and telling her you love her. _Ring a bell?_"

Quinn's chin quivered; one tear dropped, then two, then three, countless more, zipping down her face. Mouth floundering, she tried to respond but there was a giant lump in her throat clogging up her vocal chords.

"What's going on here?" Russell exited the bathroom at that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing behind him. "I heard yelling."

"Me too," said Judy, worried, rushing out of the kitchen and staring from daughter to daughter. Her face softened on Quinn's tears before glaring at Frannie. "What did you say to her?"

"Oh, tone it down with the judgment, Mother," Frannie scoffed.

"What's going on here?" Russell demanded.

Quinn trembled all over, with so many emotions, crying harder now, making these pathetic little choking noises as she tried to hold back her sobs. "Fr-Frannie, _please_, d-don't!"

"Don't _what?_" Russell spun from Frannie to Quinn, looking incredibly confused.

Judy's eyes widened as she remembered the smudged lipstick from earlier. "Oh," she said, with no hint of feeling, though she did sway to the side, hand flying to her heart. "_Oh_."

"Are you going to tell them, or should I?" Frannie demanded, furious eyes not budging from Quinn's miserable ones.

"Tell. Me. _What?_" Russell stomped his foot like a petulant child.

Quinn looked from sister to dad to mom to dad to sister again, hands fluttering at her sides, chest heaving to try to calm her breaths. More tears dripped out; her mouth floundered. "Uh, um, I, I, um…"

Frannie heaved a fed-up sigh. "Fine then, I'll tell them!" She spun toward her parents. "I caught Quinn _making out_ with Rachel. It was fucking _disgusting_."

Quinn's eyes squeezed shut.

"Y-you're kidding me," Russell uttered a sound more scared breath than laugh. "Take that back, Francesca. Take it back!"

"Believe me, Dad, I wish I could, but it's _the truth!_" She flung the two words out like knives, piercing right into Quinn's heart.

Quinn gasped out a breath, opened her eyes, and shot forward toward her father. "D-Daddy , I-I can explain!"

He gaped at her, betrayed and horrified. "Is it true? Are you _gay?_" He spit it like a cuss word. Quinn sobbed in response. "Well, are you, Quinn?" He seized her shoulders and started shaking her. "_Are you?!_"

"Russell!" Judy grabbed Quinn's arm, yanking her out of reach from the man. "That is _enough!_"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, young lady!" Russell seethed. "How could you? After everything I have done for you, after everything I have – "

"How could _she?_" Judy cut in, and pushed Quinn behind her, using her own body as a shield. Her face flushed red, veins bulged at her neck. "Oh, shut the _fuck_ up, Russell! Shut the _FUCK_ up!"

A dead silence followed; Quinn's body shook as it held back more tears. She peeked from over Judy's shoulder, gripped at her mom's waist for balance.

"Mom, why are you on her side?" Now Frannie was crying. "After what she did to this family?!"

"What did she do to this family, Frannie?" Judy demanded. "Huh? What did she do, besides be herself? Besides kiss a girl? Big deal! You think she's less of a person now, less of _your sister_, just because you caught her with a girl?"

"Sh-she should be apologizing!" Frannie sputtered, jabbing a hateful finger toward Quinn. "She's ruining everything!"

"I _love_ Rachel," Quinn wailed. "I _love_ her, okay?! Sh-she's _everything_ to me. How is that wrong? How is that dirty? I-it's _love_."

"No, it's lust, and it's disgusting," Frannie's nostrils flared.

"I knew this would happen," Russell said quietly, shaking his head.

"Knew what would happen?" Judy snorted, rolling her eyes. "Oh, here we go again…"

"I knew giving you full-custody over Quinn was a mistake."

Judy laughed, the sound derisive, dangerous. "Oh, right, you _gave_ me full-custody; the judge didn't rule in my favor, you just _gave_ it to me, just like you _weren't_ having an affair and you still _aren't_ gallivanting about with trashy whores who are Frannie's age."

"Don't you dare try to turn this around on me. This is all _your _fault, Judy! Look how she's turned out. Look what you've made her!"

"She has _turned out_ into a lovely, sweet, intelligent girl. I have not _made_ her into anything, you jackass."

"I can't believe my sister is a dyke," Frannie said. "What will George think of me now?"

"And I can't believe my oldest daughter is such a nasty little bigot," Judy snapped at her. "Now, your father, yes, I _can_ believe that, but _you_, Frannie? After how much your sister looks up to you? How close you girls are?"

"Don't you look at me like that, Mom, like I'm the one in the wrong! The Bible says that – "

Judy tossed up a hand, shook her head, clean interrupting her daughter. "Stop that sentence right now. The Bible preaches love and acceptance. You really think God would want you to treat your sister like this? You should be ashamed of yourself." She cut fiery eyes at Russell next, practically spit the words, "Both of you."

Russell and Frannie both opened their mouths to retaliate, but Judy released a "_shhhh!_" so fierce that any retorts died on their lips.

"No," she said, storming over to the door and throwing it open. "Get the _hell_ out of my house. _Now_."

Glaring at Judy and Quinn, Russell and Frannie stormed out with their heads held high.

Judy slammed the door behind them and locked it. Then, after taking a deep, _deep_ breath, she turned back to Quinn. Her face softened, concerned. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Quinn shook her head and started crying all over again. Judy ran over and hugged her; Quinn collapsed against her.

"I'm s-so s-sorry, M-Mom."

"_Shhh_," she soothed, running a hand over her daughter's hair. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"B-but – "

"No, buts. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to go up to Rachel? I'm sure she's wondering what all the commotion was about."

Quinn pulled her face from Judy's shoulder. "I guess I should go up to her now."

Judy smiled, so gently, and wiped even gentler fingers against her daughter's face, flicking away the tears. She kissed her atop her head. "So, she's your girlfriend, huh?"

Quinn blushed. "Y-you're really okay with it?"

"If you love her like you said you did, and if she makes you happy, then yes, I'm okay with it."

Quinn smiled, small but relieved and genuine. "Yeah, she's my girlfriend. And she's kind of the love of my life." She shrugged and gave a tiny, barely-there laugh.

"Okay then!" Judy hugged her close again. "That's all that matters to me. I'll admit, it will take some…_getting_ _used to_. But I can adjust. I can be flexible. Anything for you, sweetheart."

"Do you…do you think Dad and Frannie will ever come around?"

"Honestly, honey, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

Quinn's eyes welled with more tears and lower lip set atremble, but she nodded.

"Unfortunately, your father and sister are very small-minded people. And you and Rachel have a very big-minded kind of love. But people who don't love you for _you_, Quinnie?" She gave a soft smile and swiped her thumb against Quinn's cheek, brushing away a tear as it fell. "They're not worth it."

"Thanks, Mom." Quinn drew back and kissed her on the cheek. "You're the best."

"Of course," said Judy, eyes twinkling with tears, a little smile at her lips. She stroked her daughter's hair one more time. "So are you. And don't let anyone tell you different."

* * *

The second Rachel closed the door behind her, she raced into action.

First, she dove to her duffel bag and brought it into Quinn's bathroom with her, shutting that door, too. Giggling with gleeful anticipation, she pulled out the "surprise" for Quinn inside. After over an hour of shopping and careful deliberation, she and Brittany had finally decided on the perfect lingerie.

Rachel whipped off her clothes, bra, and underwear. She turned on some music from her cell phone, some party music to pump her up and ward away the nerves starting to storm in.

She slipped into the lingerie, which Brittany called "a teddy," though it looked nothing like the stuffed animal Rachel had been assuming she'd meant.

It was hot pink, despite Brittany insisting black or red were the sexiest colors. But Rachel was a sucker for pink. It had spaghetti-straps and the bust area was padded and push-up, making her breasts look a size bigger. Its stomach was sheer, leading to a tiny skirt that barely covered the top of its built-in thong underwear. Her breasts were shoved and pressed, it was too tight, like, _everywhere_, and it felt like her butt was being dental-flossed, but Brittany had _promised_ it would look sexy.

And, twirling in front of the mirror, Rachel thought that it actually sort of _did_.

Now for hair and makeup.

Rachel pulled out her white bow from her hair and flipped her hair upside down, shaking it around as she flipped back up, making it look fuller and wilder, an untamed mane of thick dark-brown. _Perfect_.

Next, she put on some false eyelashes with little white rhinestones on the tip of each impossibly long lash. She felt sort of like a Bedazzled ostrich with these lashes, but no matter; it was hot! (She hoped.)

She applied pale pink blush, spritzed perfume in strategic areas, and brushed her teeth for full minty goodness. Last, she applied hot pink lipstick and brushed glitter powder all along her shoulders, breasts, and high up her thighs.

Pouting her mouth at her reflection, batting her eyes, and thrusting out her newfound cleavage, she said in her best sex-kitten whisper of a voice, "Why, _hello there_, Miss Fabray."

Bursting into excited giggles, Rachel clapped and jumped up and down.

She turned off her cell phone for no interruptions and hurried back into Quinn's bedroom.

_Good_, Quinn hadn't gotten back yet. Rachel thought she heard something downstairs, like raised voices, but she figured it was the TV or something.

After borrowing Quinn's iPod dock to play her own iPod, set to her newly added 'Sexy Times' playlist, Rachel pulled out the candles she'd brought and set them all around Quinn's room before lighting each one. She turned off the lights, so that the room was lit only by the romantic glow of two dozen candles, flames flickering as alive and passionate as the butterflies in Rachel's stomach.

Last but not least, she grabbed the container of dark red rose petals she'd brought and dashed them all over the room, on the floor, on the shelves, in a thick trail leading up to the bed.

Grinning like a madwoman, she flopped onto the bed against the pillows and positioned herself into as sexy a pose as possible, making sure she was pouting like a vixen.

Then, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And freaking _waited_.

Rachel huffed with impatience, wondering where in the world her Quinn was. What was taking her so long?!

All that water she'd gulped down at dinner was starting to hit her bladder. Her palms were sweaty with nerves, and stayed sweaty, no matter how often she kept wiping them on Quinn's bed. This "teddy" was _really freaking uncomfortable_; it is just not _natural_ have fabric lodged up your butt, _on purpose_, no less.

Rachel twisted to the side, trying to pick the permanent wedgie into submission, cursing Brittany under her breath, when a knock came at the door.

"R-Rachel? C-Can I come in?" Quinn's voice asked, sounding strangely stuffed-up.

Lightning-fast, Rachel startled back into position, hand yanking away from her ass to land atop her knee instead. She shook her hair out around her shoulders, pouted her lips out plump and giant, and said in that sex-kitten purr, "Why _of course_ you can."

"… What? I can barely hear you. Why are you whispering?"

Rachel cleared her throat, fluffed the ends of her hair, and pushed up the bra even further. "I _said_," she set her voice to its full, breathy maximum of hotness, "Come on in."

"Oh my _God_, Rachel, I can't _hear_ you!" A miserable, frustrated huff. "What are you even _saying?_"

Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, come in, come in!" she called in her normal voice.

The song changed on the playlist to Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On." _Good, _Rachel thought. _Maybe a bit cliché, but good_.

The door opened, and in stepped Quinn. "You won't _believe _what just – ohmyGod."

Rachel took one look at the tears running down Quinn's mascara-stained cheeks and forgot about everything else. She shot off the bed, running over to her, worry springing all over her face.

"Quinn! Oh no! What happened?!"

"I could ask the same of you." Quinn gaped at her. "Why are you so…pink? And shimmery? And…half-naked?" Then, belatedly, having been so distracted by Rachel, she noticed all the candles, and the rose petals, and the mood music. "Oh my God!" Somehow, impossibly, despite everything that had just happened, Quinn found herself smiling. "Is this a _sex chamber?_ Are you _coming onto me?_"

"Well, I _would_ be, if you weren't crying!" Rachel was too worried to be embarrassed. "What happened?"

Quinn's face tendered with affection, and okay, some amusement, as she gave Rachel's appearance a full once-over. "Maybe you should change out of Barbie Gone Wild before we talk about it."

Rachel lifted her hands to Quinn's face and softly, so very softly, stroked away each tear. Quinn's eyes fluttered shut and a breath shuddered from her chest. Once rid of mascara-and-tear residue, Rachel kissed her cheek (and wiped away the hot pink lipstick left behind).

"Okay. Yeah. Definitely," she said belatedly, and then winced at herself. "Wow, I must look like such a freak, huh?"

"No," Quinn said firmly, shaking her head. She reached out a hand, cradled the side of Rachel's face. "You're beautiful. And sexy. And wonderfully pink." They giggled and shared a sweet kiss.

Rachel ran to the bathroom (turning off the iPod along the way) and changed back into her previous outfit, taking off the eyelashes and wiping off the lipstick. When she walked back into Quinn's bedroom, she found her curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. Tears didn't stream down her face anymore, but she still looked miserable.

"You don't have to say anything yet," Rachel said, climbing onto the bed with her and cuddling up beside her. She wrapped her arms around Quinn, hugged her against her smaller body. "You can just lay here if you want to."

Quinn started crying again, at Rachel's kindness, at how much she loved this girl, at how unfair it was that her dad and sister couldn't see that, or accept that, or just chose not to.

And as the tears fell, Rachel never wavered from stroking Quinn's hair and holding her tight against her.

So maybe her surprise had been an utter failure, and there would be no sex tonight.

Maybe one of the candles burned wax into Quinn's desk and one fell over and caught the desk on fire, resulting in the girls screaming and running in panicked circles before dousing it with water cupped in their hands from the bathroom sink (_that_ was a sight to see), resulting in scorch marks on the wood.

And maybe two of Quinn's family members had turned out to be horrible, nasty, conditional-love type of people.

But they had each other, their own little family. And that had to count for something.

No –As Rachel brushed back Quinn's hair and kissed away her tears, it counted for _everything._


	12. Present - 6

**Chapter Twelve**

**_Present - Right After the Interview and Photography_**

Forty-five minutes later – after countless more photos taken and memories made, each new one burning into their minds and skin – they were strolling out of the elevator, back into the lobby.

Quinn dropped the hotel suite's key card back off at the front desk, her legs feeling heavier and heavier with each step she took toward those revolving doors. Rachel walked at the same pace as her, but off to the side, far enough away that you could fit another person between them.

_This_, what was about to happen, was what Rachel had been dreading the most. Even more than saying "hello" to Quinn after three years – saying "goodbye" again. Interacting for two hours with this person who had once meant so much to her, had once meant her whole life, and now she was about to wave at her, bid her _bon voyage_ yet again this time, and pretend it didn't matter.

They stopped when they reached the doors.

"Well," Rachel said, mustering up a tight smile. "I guess this is goodbye."

_Again _– the word hung between them, heavy.

_Forever _– it joined the first, heavier.

Quinn nodded, feeling her heart beating somehow both fast and slow, this dreadful beat. She should be relieved! She'd gotten the closure she needed: she now could no longer feel guilty, because Rachel wasn't miserable, her life wasn't ruined, she had Best Friend Jesse and Broadway and a Rising Career all ahead of her.

Quinn should be basking in it. She should be relieved.

Why wasn't she relieved?

"Yeah," Quinn said. "It was… It was…"

'Nice to see you'? That sounded too sparse, insincere.

'A real pleasure'? Nope, too cold and professional.

'Torturous yet exhilarating'? That was the truth, but were they ready for it?

Would they ever be?

Rachel nodded. "Yeah. Well, good luck with your career, Quinn. Congratulations on the whole reporting thing."

Quinn's ears soaked up the way Rachel said her name, the last time she would hear her say it, even if it was in a tone that was already drifting away, becoming detached.

"Thank you. Congrats to you, too, Rachel." She tried not to notice the way those brown eyes fluttered shut when she said her name, tried not to notice the flicker of pain when they opened again. "I always knew you would be on Broadway."

"Thanks." Rachel smiled softly at the ground, playing with the ends of her hair. "When will the article be up?"

"It should be up by Wednesday."

"Okay. I look forward to reading it."

And that was it. The last words. The morning drawn to the inevitable end, like a curtain pulled taught over a window, sealing away everything waiting beyond.

Rachel stuck out her hand; Quinn stuck out her arms. To handshake or to hug? It resulted in an awkward, shuffling series of movements, until finally they settled on a loose side-hug, more shoulders and elbows than anything.

Rachel pulled away, waving, the first to go through those revolving doors, turning and turning and then _gone_, spit outside to the sidewalk beyond.

As Quinn watched her go, something fast and urgent, hot and cold spun through her. _Panic_. Without thinking, she ran through the doors, pushing them to go faster, and followed after Rachel.

"Wait!"

Rachel, ten steps ahead, froze, heart stopping and then picking up faster. _What the – ?_

She turned, and there was Quinn, speed-walking toward her.

"Yes?" Rachel asked, eyebrows jumping and pulse along with it.

"You, um…" Quinn felt panicked again, a different kind, a more embarrassed kind. "I think you dropped something."

Rachel's face twisted into scornful confusion. "What? No, I didn't." Why was Quinn doing this? Why was she dragging this out?

"Oh, you mean you didn't, uh…drop a pen?" Quinn almost cringed at herself.

"A _pen?_ No. What pen?"

"It's…back there."

"So, you didn't even pick it up?" Okay, this was getting weirder. "How would I know what you're talking about? There are so many pens in the world, and you just assume I would know whi – "

Quinn could have gotten lost in the rambling all day, but instead, she interrupted, tongue speaking without asking her brain first. "Are you hungry?"

Rachel blinked, dropped her jaw, then pulled herself together. "_What?_ Um… Yeah. It's almost one and I haven't eaten since nine, so." She shrugged, looked off to the side, then hugged her arms around her.

"Do you want to go get lunch?" Quinn asked.

Rachel's gaze whipped back to her; Quinn's eyes were huge and vulnerable and _scary_ to Rachel, but mostly to Quinn herself.

"Like, with me?" Quinn added.

Rachel just stared, so Quinn rushed on. "I mean, it would _totally_ just be professional. It could be something else I could add to the article, about what your favorite lunch is. You know, for the readers."

Rachel's stomach said yes, mind said no, and heart said both. "I don't…um, I just don't really think that's a good idea?"

Quinn blinked hard, looked at her shoes. "Yeah. Okay. It's stupid." She lifted her head, smiled a painfully polite smile at Rachel without meeting her eyes, and turned around.

She started to walk off.

And Rachel _almost_ let her, but –

"Wait."

Quinn turned back around, face and eyes alight with hope and fear struggling for dominance.

Rachel's stomach fluttered as she spoke, not knowing why she was even speaking in the first place. "There's this place a few blocks from here? Jesse says it has _amazing_ BLTs, and, well, I remember how much you love bacon." A shrug. "Um, you should go there sometime. It's called The Deli Lama."

Quinn nodded a few times, hope plummeting. "Oh. Okay. Thanks, I'll…check it out sometime."

"Well, you know…" Rachel shrugged again, deeper. "I go right by there on the way to my apartment. I could walk you there, make sure you don't get lost? And while I'm at it, I might as well stay for lunch. They have excellent tomato soup."

Quinn tried to quell the excitement rising up from deep within; Rachel tried to control her nerves, gripping her hands together.

"Okay," Quinn said, smiling more so with her eyes than her mouth. "That sounds great; lead the way."

And so Rachel did, a few steps in front of Quinn, but she never fell far behind.

They didn't talk along the way, the sound of their footsteps – almost in sync, but not quite – being enough.


End file.
